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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24824941">Dawn Will Find Us Again</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptAcorn/pseuds/CaptAcorn'>CaptAcorn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Voyager</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Issues, Grief/Mourning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:47:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>42,298</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24824941</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptAcorn/pseuds/CaptAcorn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Even two years after Voyager's return to the Alpha Quadrant, Kathryn Janeway still feels a responsibility towards her crew. When a tragic accident takes one of Voyager's own, she may be the only one who can pick up the pieces.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris, Tom Paris/B'Elanna Torres</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040691">The Halo Effect</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator/pseuds/Curator">Curator</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>About a year ago, I read Curator's wonderful story and really enjoyed it. (Go read it if you haven't already!) But, as the best fic does, it also got my own writer brain cranking and I had a compulsion to write my own J/P fic. The stories start in a similar place, but, because I'm me and despite my best intentions, this story became a lot more about grief (of all kinds) than it is about romance and is probably the most P/T-centric J/P fic in existence. </p><p>This wasn't really beta read (so brace yourself for typos, folks) but shout out to Caseyptah for reading as I wrote it and being my own personal cheerleader!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kathryn Janeway exited the transporter gate on Dolores Street, next to the park with its colorful and expansive playground bathed in late afternoon sun. If she recalled correctly, the playground was why Tom had lobbied for this townhouse. “He doesn’t care that she can’t even sit up yet,” B’Elanna had said, burping a three-month old Miral over her shoulder. “He’s already taken her down the slide in his lap.” </p><p>She glanced at her PADD to remind herself of the directions. That visit had been her only one, not that Tom and B’Elanna hadn’t issued several other invitations. She’d just never managed to make the time. To be honest, she’d rather not be visiting today, either, but one didn’t deny Owen Paris a request unless one had a very good reason, and being a coward hardly counted. </p><p>He’d found her in her office at HQ, only an hour after she’d returned from the Trellmar sector. The whole conversation had given Kathryn an eerie sense of deja vu, it not being the first time Owen had come begging for help with his lost and troubled youngest. “I don’t know who else to ask.” His eyes had been reddened and his posture slumped. Kathryn wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the Admiral look quite so defeated, and, given the things she’d experienced with him, that was saying something. “He won’t even let us in the house anymore — not me, not Julia, not even his sisters. No one’s talked to him in three days. Frankly, Katie, I’m scared. For him and Miral.”</p><p>Harry was already back on his ship in the Beta Quadrant, Tuvok and Seven had both returned to Vulcan, and no one at the Academy’s flight school seemed to think of Tom as anything more than a genial colleague. Who else was left? Chakotay? She didn’t know where he’d gone, and, frankly, given the way the two men had always butted heads, she couldn’t imagine him making any headway with an angry and depressed Tom Paris. Which left her or calling the authorities for a wellness check, and the latter would set off a chain of events that would likely ruin any hope Owen and Julia had for repairing their relationship with their son.</p><p>Desperate for any help she could get, however, she’d first called the Doctor on Jupiter Station. He, at least, had been able to give her a little good news. </p><p>“I spoke with him this morning, Admiral,” he’d said. “Miral had a cough, and he was concerned. She’s quite well, aside from a minor viral infection, though from what I could see from our brief conversation, the same cannot be said for Mr. Paris. I tried to ask how he was doing, but he hung up before I even finished the question and hasn’t answered his comm since.” He’d made a few medical suggestions, expressed his regret that there wasn’t more he could do, and wished her good luck. “If you speak to him, or, rather, if he’s willing to listen to you, tell him I’m sorry that I can’t be there. That I couldn’t—”</p><p>“I’m sure he understands, Doctor,” Kathryn had cut him off, not unkindly. But the more she thought about it, the more urgent this mission felt, and she’d heard the Doctor’s laments over his lack of freedom enough for several lifetimes. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”</p><p>She arrived at Tom’s front door far more quickly than she would have liked. She rang the doorbell out of courtesy, but didn’t expect a response based on what Owen had told her. Her next step was to try an emergency code B’Elanna had given her when they’d first moved in, then she’d try again at the back. She would use her security clearance to hack the lock, if it came to that. She was just about to type in the code when the door’s speaker came to life. “Aren’t you supposed to be on Trellmar?”</p><p>Kathryn had been ready to kick the door down, to find a Tom broken by grief, to even call for medical assistance if necessary. She hadn’t been ready for him to answer the door in a voice that sounded perfectly like himself. “The talks went better than expected. I came back early.” </p><p>The door lock whirred open. “I’m feeding Miral dinner. I can’t come up there.”</p><p>She opened the door cautiously, but, just like Tom’s voice, everything seemed fine. There were toys scattered everywhere, blankets and pillows on the floor, but nothing one wouldn’t expect from any house with a quarter-Klingon toddler in residence. The blinds were open, the house smelled clean. Maybe Owen and the Doctor had been overreacting. Of course Tom was sad and withdrawn — his wife had died only two weeks ago, after all — but he was also one of the most resilient individuals Kathryn had ever met. He’d come back from his tragic mistake at Caldik Prime, from his time in prison, from the many, many traumas of the Delta Quadrant. He would recover from this, too.</p><p>She followed the sound of baby prattle to the kitchen at the back of the townhouse. As she came to the door, she spotted two-year-old Miral in her high chair, a piece of cereal stuck to one cheek, waving a bright orange spoon in the air. “Hiya!” she said, her mouth open wide in a toothy grin. </p><p>Tom’s back was towards her. He had yet to even nod in acknowledgment of her entrance. Kathryn stepped fully into the kitchen. “Hello, Miral. I’m your Aunt Kathryn. Do you remember me?”</p><p>Miral’s face puckered into an adorable pout. “Not Tee Kat.”</p><p>Kathryn’s smile became puzzled. “Tee Kat?”</p><p>“My sister,” Tom said, still not looking at her. “Auntie Kath. Your name’s probably confusing her.” He nudged at the chopped up bits of meat and broccoli on her tray with a purple fork. “Come on, Miri. Eat your food.” </p><p>Kathryn stepped past Tom and knelt by the high chair. “I’m Aunt Kathryn. That’s a little like Auntie Kath, but not quite. Can you say Aunt Kathryn?” </p><p>Miral’s eyes squinted at her, reminding Kathryn so much of her mother puzzling out a engineering conundrum it nearly brought her to tears, and said: “Ant Rin?”</p><p>Kathryn smiled and cupped her cheek. “That’ll do just fine,” she said. She turned to Tom, about to tell him how adorable his daughter was, when she saw his face and gasped. </p><p>He looked awful. His already pale complexion was borderline grey, his cheeks were sunken, and the circles under his reddened eyes were as dark as bruises. She wondered if he’d shaved since the funeral. “Tom…” she started, automatically reaching out a hand. </p><p>She might as well have pointed a phaser at him. He jerked away from her and out of his chair, moving towards the sink. “What are you doing here?” he asked.</p><p>Kathryn took the seat next to Miral. Now that he was up and she could get a look at him, she realized how wrong she’d been to think this would be just another trauma for Tom. His clothes, stained, wrinkled, and a bit ripe, hung off him like a scarecrow’s. His shoulders were low, his steps shuffling and hesitant, his words just a touch slurred. The kitchen, much like the sitting room and even Miral, looked clean and reasonably tidy, but, when Kathryn spotted the half-empty bottle of bourbon on the counter, she realized it was all a facade. A sort of trompe-l’oeil meant to hide the devastated condition of his heart. She gave silent thanks to the Doctor for recommending the hypospray she had in her shoulder bag. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t at the funeral,” she said. “I wanted so badly to be there for you and Miral, but—”</p><p>“It’s fine,” he said, moving dishes from the sink to ‘fresher next to it. “The talks with the Trellmar were important. It’s not like you being here would have changed anything. It’s not like she wouldn’t still be dead.”</p><p>Kathryn closed her eyes against the pain bleeding from his voice. “I just wanted to come by now that I’m back and tell you I’m here for you,” she said, willing him to look at her. “Whatever you need, Tom. I’m so sorry. I wish there was something else to say.” </p><p>It had been the most senseless of senseless accidents. A series of tragic “if onlies” that had snowballed into a tragedy. If only Admiral Feld hadn’t pushed the deadline for the new impulse engine up by two weeks. If only B’Elanna hadn’t had to stay home with a sick Miral for three days and hadn’t felt extra pressure to get the initial testing done. If only she’d been on the other side of the hangar instead of pausing to pick up a fallen hyperspanner. If only the weather forecast hadn’t been off by an hour and the lightning had struck one building over or one minute later and not just as a new, unstable impulse field had been generated. A series of terrible, stupid coincidences and decisions and minor mistakes that should have resulted in nothing but inconvenience but instead of stripped Tom of his wife and Miral of her mother. </p><p>“There’s nothing to say, Admiral.” Tom had moved onto scrubbing the counters and the cooktop Kathryn remembered B’Elanna had mocked him for installing. (“Who knew the hotshot pilot of the DQ would end up so domestic?” she’d said to Kathryn with an affectionate look at her husband.) “If there was, I’m sure one of the two hundred people at her funeral would have said it.” He shook his head with a snort. “Can you believe that? Two hundred people. I don’t know if B’Elanna liked even two <em>dozen</em> people. Anyway, thanks for stopping by. I appreciate it, and your offer. But Miral and I are fine. I took a few weeks’ leave. I’m fully capable of using a replicator, a ‘fresher, and changing her diapers. We’re good. Really. We don’t need anything.” </p><p>Kathryn didn’t miss that his increasingly frenzied counter wiping had ended on that bottle of bourbon. “Are you sure, Tom? Because I got a different story from your father.”</p><p>It was instantaneous — the way his spine and shoulders stiffened, his breathing picked up pace. “My father sent you?”</p><p>“Not exactly. I might have waited another day or two otherwise, but—”</p><p>“It’s time for you to go,” he said, rubbing his hand around the base of the bottle. “Miral has to take a bath.” </p><p>“They’re worried about you.” </p><p>He whipped around to face her. “They want to take my daughter from me!” he barked. Miral whimpered at his explosive anger, her eyes large and worried. Tom’s expression changed into such a pathetic imitation of his normal, sunny smile it was grotesque. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Daddy didn’t mean to scare you.” He moved to the replicator, quickly returning to the high chair with a large cookie. “Here. Do you want a cookie? You did a good job with dinner. You can have a treat now.” </p><p>Kathryn tried again. “I don’t think your parents want—”</p><p>“Don’t,” he hissed, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her towards the doorway and out of Miral’s earshot. “Don’t defend them. You haven’t been here; you don’t know what they said, so don’t you dare defend them. Like I said, Miral and I are fine. We don’t need their help; we don’t need your help. So leave. Now.” </p><p>Kathryn had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but she did need a new strategy. Whatever had happened between Tom and his parents was obviously too fraught to touch at the moment; they could revisit the topic when he was sober and rested. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to leave him or Miral alone. “All right, Tom.” She kept her voice low and soothing. “I won’t defend them. We don’t even need to talk about them. But I do think you need help. And that’s OK. You’re grieving. You’re in pain. Anyone would need help at a time like this. Please. Let me do something. Anything.”</p><p>She saw the tears well up in his eyes, which were now directed firmly at the floor. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled, or grabbed your arm. I… I’m just really tired. I’m not… Miral isn’t sleeping that well. And… I’m just tired.”  </p><p>Now they were making progress. Kathryn guided him gently back to the table where Miral was still enjoying her cookie, and pressed him into a chair. “I talked to the Doctor before I came here. He gave me some replicator files to help,” she said, pulling the two hyposprays from her bag. “You’re going to take them, and I’ll keep an eye on Miral for a little while. Don’t you have a nanny? I can call them for you; have them come during the day so you can take some time for yourself. Or even a night—”</p><p>Tom had one of the hyposprays in his hand. “Isopropinone.” </p><p>“Yes. The Doctor said—”</p><p>“A detox hypo? You think I’m drunk? You think I’d get drunk while I’m taking care of my daughter?”</p><p>“When people are in pain…” Kathryn gestured at the bottle on the counter, her heart pounding at the rage in his face. </p><p>“It’s Ayala’s,” he snarled, infusing more menace into a whisper than Kathryn thought possible. “He brought it here, full, after the funeral. He drank that half all by his lonesome, puked in my backyard, and Dalby and Chakotay had to drag him out of here when he wouldn’t leave.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”</p><p>“Do you need me to call them? Corroborate my story?”</p><p>“No, of course not—”</p><p>“I’m sure I have a tricorder around here somewhere. You can scan my blood alcohol levels. We can run a whole tox screen if you want.” His volume grew with each angry demand. </p><p>“Tom, please—” </p><p>“What the ever loving fuck?” he barked, then froze, glancing at his daughter.</p><p>Miral, eyes wide but not frightened, flipped her gaze back and forth between her father and this relative stranger. She lowered the cookie, opened her mouth into a wide grin, then gleefully announced: “Fuck!” </p><p>Kathryn’s hand went to her mouth, knowing she needed to hide the smile the tiny girl’s expletive had triggered. She looked at Tom, whose mouth twitched as well. Thank god. At least Tom’s language slip up had broken the terrible tension of the moment. </p><p>Except, once again, Kathryn had been completely wrong. For Tom’s mouth opened — not in a laugh, as she’d expected, but in an awful, heart-rending sob that caused Kathryn to drop to her knees beside him and wrap her arms around his shoulders. </p><p>“I can’t do this,” he cried. “I can’t. My parents are right. Everyone’s right. I can’t raise her alone. I’m going to screw everything up. I can’t do it.” </p><p>Miral returned to her cookie without even blinking, making Kathryn wonder how many times a baby had to see her father break down before it became routine. “It’s all right, Tom. Let it out,” she murmured into his ear. “I’m here. It’s going to be all right.” </p><p>It took several minutes of sobbing and whispered nothings of comfort before Tom’s breathing slowed and his body stilled. Kathryn slipped the offending hypospray back in her bag, but she left the other one on the table. “You need to get some sleep. Now. I’ll take care of Miral.”</p><p>Tom shook his head. “I… I keep having these dreams. And she doesn’t know you. She…”</p><p>“She’ll get to know me soon enough. And the Doctor said this will keep you from dreaming. Take it, Tom.” </p><p>He took the hypospray, but only to fiddle with it. “You shouldn’t suppress REM sleep. He should know. He’s the one that taught me that.” </p><p>Kathryn couldn’t help but smile at how well the two old adversaries still knew each other. “‘Except in cases in which profound trauma prevents the patient from getting adequate rest.’ A direct quote. No more excuses. Go upstairs, take the hypospray, and sleep. Consider it an order if you have to.” </p><p>Tom nodded and stood. “Her tub’s all set up for her. She can use the big one now.”</p><p>“Go. She’ll be fine.” </p><p>“We… I’m weaning her off the paci, still. She’d been doing better, but then…”</p><p>“Tom. I commanded a starship with a crew complement of one hundred and fifty on the other side of the galaxy with few allies and no support. I think I can figure out one toddler.”</p><p>Tom nodded again, kissed his daughter on the head, and walked to the door of the kitchen before stopping again. “Kathryn?”</p><p>This was getting ridiculous. She was ready to pin him down and give him the damn hypospray herself. “What?”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I forgot to mention! This fic is complete and I'll be posting every 1-2 days. Thanks for everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos so far!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tom woke to the sound of pounding rain. He smiled and stretched, feeling pretty good, then rolled to the left and towards his wife, ready to feel better. </p><p>The other side of the bed was empty.</p><p>B’Elanna wasn’t there.</p><p>She was dead.</p><p>He stared at the ceiling. He should get up. Shower, get dressed. Eat something. Those were the steps one took when one was a living, breathing person who had a life to lead. He just didn’t see the point to doing any of it anymore. Except…</p><p>(“It’s your turn to get up with her, Tom.”)</p><p>Tom squinted at the silent monitor next to his bed. “Miral?” </p><p>The alarm clock confirmed — it was after eight. Miral didn’t sleep until after eight. She didn’t sleep past five most days. Tom threw off the covers and ran towards his daughter’s room, stubbing his toe hard against the door frame. “Miral?” </p><p>Shit. Shit. He couldn’t… He couldn’t even remember putting her to bed last night. What had he done? Had he left her downstairs? He threw open her door. Her crib was empty. “Miral!” </p><p>(“I’m gone two weeks, and you’ve already screwed up. I knew I couldn't count on you.”)</p><p>Fuck. How had things gone so wrong? His wife was dead and he’d lost his goddamn daughter in his own fucking house. “Fuck!”</p><p>“Tom!”</p><p>Janeway. It was Janeway. She’d been here last night, that’s right, but that didn’t matter because he didn’t know where his daughter was. “Miral,” he panted. “I don’t know… Shit.” </p><p>She grabbed him by the shoulders and squeezed, hard, until he stopped fighting and moving. “Tom,” she said, her voice low and calm. “Tom, she’s fine. She spent the night with Moira. She’s fine.”</p><p>Tom blinked. Moira. Moira had Miral, and that was OK because she had three kids of her own. Moira could take care of her. But… “How?” Janeway was here, in his house, in the morning, with messy hair and slept-in clothes and B’Elanna was still dead and literally nothing made sense. “Have you… have you been here this whole time?”</p><p>Janeway smiled at him. “The Doctor said you might be a little disoriented when you woke up. Come on. Come downstairs. Have some coffee.” </p><p>Tom followed her, for lack of anything better to do. She plunked him down at the kitchen table, poured him a cup of coffee, then placed a plate of toast, hash, and two eggs over easy in front of him. “You cooked,” he said.</p><p>Janeway snorted. “Please. I wanted you to feel better. I called your mother and asked her to send over your favorite replicator files. Eat up.”</p><p>Tom blinked, still deeply confused but also, suddenly, ravenous. He began to shovel in the chunks of corned beef and onion, stopping only long enough to take a swallow of coffee in between. </p><p>“You want seconds?” Janeway asked. </p><p>Tom shook his head. He was starving, yes, but this had happened before. He would eat everything in sight and then, in ten or fifteen or thirty minutes, he would remember B’Elanna was dead and would never eat again and he’d want to throw the whole fucking lot up at the shittiness of it. </p><p>“Turns out I was wrong,” Janeway said. “About being able to handle one toddler. The bath went all right, and we read some books. But when I figured it was likely bed time, she may have pitched a minor fit. I didn’t want her to wake you, so I called your sister. She was happy to take her for the night. She said she’d bring her back around noon.”</p><p>It suddenly clicked. Moira had his daughter. His sister. The sister who was closest to Owen and Julia; who lived just one neighborhood over, for fuck’s sake. “I’m going to call her. She needs to bring her back now.” </p><p>But Janeway had her hand clamped over his; she wasn’t letting him up. “Tom. Tom, stop. She’ll be back in a few hours. In the meantime, I can help you take care of things. Clean up a bit, go through the fifty or so messages you’ve got sitting on your comm. Just sit. Talk to me.” </p><p>She didn’t understand; of course she didn’t. How could anyone whose parents names weren’t Owen and Julia Paris understand the deep levels of manipulation and control they wielded over everyone around them? “I’ll shower first,” he conceded, because he honestly wasn’t sure the last time he’d taken one and his family didn’t need any more ammo against him, “but then I’m going to get her. She is not staying there a minute longer than she has to.”</p><p>“Tom,” Janeway started, and he knew what was coming. “After what you said last night, I called your parents. I think this is all a misunderstanding.” </p><p>“Because that’s what they want you to think. That this is my fault. Let me guess: ‘Tom’s overreacting.’ ‘Tom’s grieving — he’s not showing good judgment.’ ‘We just want to help them.’ I’ve known them my whole damn life, Admiral. I know what they’re doing and why they’re doing it.” </p><p>Their first move had been to ask — no, demand — that Tom and Miral move in with them. His mother trying to butter him up, his father telling him to think about what was best for his daughter. When he’d balked at the idea, they’d taken things up a notch — told Tom that they could take Miral off his hands for a while. “Just until you’re back on your feet, darling. Just for a few weeks.” </p><p>Yeah, right. Those few weeks would pass, and they’d come up with excuses to keep her “a little longer. She’s doing so well, darling.” His father would get him transferred, maybe — from his teaching position at the flight school to a ship with a short term mission. “You’re a single parent now, son. You need to think about your career. Set an example.” His mother had never really liked B’Elanna, and, now that she was gone, his parents saw it as an opportunity. To get their clutches into his daughter; to raise her “correctly;” to craft the perfect Starfleet officer that their son never wanted or was able to be. </p><p>“I don’t want to have an argument about it,” Janeway said. </p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“If you want to go get her after a shower, then that’s what we’ll do.” </p><p>“I plan on it.” </p><p>“But,” she stressed, squeezing his hand again. “I’m asking you, as a personal favor, to try putting aside your assumptions about their motives. Just try, Tom. And think about how you might respond someday, if your position was reversed. If Miral was in the kind of pain you’re in right now. Think about how desperate you’d feel to do something.” </p><p>Tom slumped in his chair. Now he felt miserable, numb, and like a jackass.  </p><p>“All right,” she said briskly. “Let’s make a plan. You sit here and finish your coffee, then take a shower. I’ll start picking up a little, and we can go through your comm once Miral’s home. OK?”</p><p>“Don’t you have stuff to do?” he muttered into his mug. The one B’Elanna had replicated for him. Blue, with the words “Captain Proton Saves Earth!” emblazoned around it. “Planets to save? Nebulas to explore?”</p><p>“Nothing more important than this.” </p><p>Tom nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak. Because he didn’t realize what a difference it would make. To have someone here, in his kitchen, trying to help. Not managing his grief for their own, shadowy reasons like his parents were. Not assailing him with useless platitudes, like most of the mourners at the funeral. Not bleeding all over the floor from his own pain, like Harry. Just sitting with him, letting him cry, and holding his hand. He felt… Not good. He wasn’t sure when or if he’d ever feel good again. But he felt less alone. </p><p>“She always worried about it, you know?” Tom said suddenly. “That I was going to leave her. Her father… He messed her up but good. I wanted to punch him at the funeral. The way he was crying. Like he had any right to cry after how much he’d hurt her.”</p><p>“Oh, Tom.”</p><p>“That’s why she wanted to change Miral’s DNA. Did you know that? I guess no one did, but me and the Doctor. She was afraid Miral would be too Klingon for me. That I’d get scared off. Run like her father had.”</p><p>“That’s… That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. For both of you.” </p><p>“I had to promise her. And I did — so many times. Because I knew she never completely believed me. I said it over and over again. Sometimes serious, sometimes joking. ‘I’m never going to leave you.’” The words were coming harder now, but Tom forced them past the tightening clamp around his throat, the one that threatened to choke him. “But I never… I never asked her to promise me. I never told her I was scared, too.” </p><p>“Come here,” Janeway said, folding him once again in her arms. “Come here. It’s all right.”</p><p>“Why didn’t I tell her?” he sobbed. “Why didn’t I make her promise to stay?”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kathryn rubbed her eyes, trying to stay focused on the words she was reading. All she needed to do was get through this last report and she could shove off for the day. Tom had had his first appointment with a grief counselor this afternoon, and she wanted to check on him. </p><p>If only the report’s author, Commander Dagan, wasn’t such a pompous showoff. Why speak plainly when one could bury the salient points in overly complex sentence structures and words half the admiralty had to look up in a dictionary? She hadn’t realized, when she’d been promoted to Vice Admiral, that the position would involve wading through acres of dull reports and sitting through even duller presentations. </p><p>Of course, maybe if she’d been allowed to head up a science division as she’d asked, rather than the being dragged into the Diplomatic and Public Relations Corps against her will, it wouldn’t be quite so dreary. Why was there so much damn bureaucracy in this department? Who joined Starfleet with the dream of doing paperwork until their eyes bled? Even her initial, optimistic hopes that she could maybe change the division from the inside out — streamline processes, cut back on about ninety percent of the PR crap — hadn’t panned out. Admiral Maguire made a point of keeping her on a tight leash, and the more Kathryn fought it, the harder she pulled back. </p><p>Her desk comm pinged. “Admiral Janeway,” her AI assistant’s bland voice intoned “Admiral Paris is here to see you.”</p><p>She opened the door from her desk. “Bad time?” Owen asked, poking his head in.</p><p>“God, no.” She waved him in and leaned back in her chair. “I’m trying to read Dagan’s report on the civil war that’s erupted on Quibor. How anyone can make that so dry is beyond me.”</p><p>Owen laughed. “I lasted five minutes, then passed it on to the third-year I’m mentoring to write a one-page summary.”</p><p>“Who do I have to kill to get a copy of that?” Kathryn joked.</p><p>Owen’s face went quiet. “I owe you a lot more than a single report summary, Katie. Tom and Miral came over for dinner last night.”</p><p>Which Kathryn knew all along was the real reason for Owen’s unexpected visit. A little over a week had passed since Kathryn’s visit to Tom’s townhouse. A week in which she’d visit the tiny, decimated family almost daily — to make sure Tom ate at least one decent meal a day, to help sort through the virtual pile of condolences on his comm, to contact everyone who needed to know about B’Elanna’s passing so Tom didn’t get an inadvertent reminder from her dentist or her usual hair salon. He wasn’t doing well — Kathryn didn’t expect that to happen for some time — but he was doing better. She’d known he’d tentatively reached out to his parents about a visit. In fact, she’d gently encouraged it. Miral adored her grandparents and, resentment aside, Tom couldn’t let her world get smaller than it had already gotten. “How did it go?”</p><p>“Awkwardly.” Owen said with a sigh. “Not with Miral, of course. What a little burst of sunshine that child is. Tom was like that, when he was a baby. But it’s hard, Katie. To see your child in pain and know they don’t want your help.”</p><p>Kathryn found herself bristling on Tom’s behalf. “It’s not that he doesn’t want it, Owen,” she said with a tactfulness she didn’t feel. “I think it’s just with your history, with his grief — he’s not seeing things through the best lens right now. You have to be gentle with him.”</p><p>Owen raised a hand. “I know, I know. I heard you the first ten times you scolded me. Don’t worry; we took your advice. We let Tom drive the evening — didn’t pressure him to stay longer, didn’t ask what his long term plans were. It just about killed Julia not to, but she didn’t even offer to babysit. And the night didn’t end in a shouting match, so there’s that.” </p><p>“I’d call that a win,” she said, through only slightly gritted teeth.</p><p>“Not much of one.”</p><p>Did Owen know how snide his words sounded? How could he still understand his own son so poorly? “It’s going to take time. He and B’Elanna fought hard to get their relationship to where it was when she died. They grew a lot together. Tom may not know who he is without her. Not right away, anyway.”</p><p>Owen nodded and changed the subject, for which Kathryn was grateful. Owen Paris had taught her much about what it meant to be in Starfleet, about how to lead. But, since her return to the Alpha Quadrant, she found the more time she spent with him, the more she wondered what it must have been like for Tom, growing up in that massive house in Pacific Heights. Because it didn’t always translate, did it? The skill sets needed to be a good commanding officer didn’t necessarily make one a good parent.</p><p>Kathryn had started to fidget in her chair and consider making up fake dinner plans when Owen finally stood to leave. “One other thing, Katie. I know it’s not quite the science mission you’d like, but they’re going to task an admiral to head up the talks with the Kanom. Get a look at that revolutionary stellar power cell they keep bragging about. If I tell Gould to put you at the top of the list, he will. He owes me a few favors.”</p><p>Talks with the Kanom? Kathryn couldn’t say she wasn’t tempted. Getting off Earth for a few months; learning about a new tech that might revolutionize planetary energy supplies, especially for poorer outer colonies. Owen was right — that was about as close to what she wanted to do without getting a divisional transfer. She should be jumping at the chance. “Thank you for thinking of me. Let me give it a little thought and I’ll get back to you.”</p><p>“Just let me know by the end of the week. I’ll have my assistant send you that report on Quibor, tomorrow. Have a good night, Katie.”</p><p>“You, too, Owen. Give my love to Julia.”</p><p>She counted to fifty before leaving her office — she might find her taste for Owen Paris waning a bit, but that didn’t mean she wanted her old mentor to know it. Once outside and on the grounds, she slapped her comm badge and routed a message to Tom’s home device. “I thought I’d bring dinner over tonight,” she said. “Anything you like. Pizza? Thai? Ethiopian?”</p><p>“Whatever you want,” and the flatness of his tone made Kathryn’s heart clench. “Doesn’t matter to me.”</p><p>She nearly called for a site to site right then. But she’d been trying to show Tom that he could, eventually, move on, that he was strong enough, and transporting directly into his family room just because he wasn’t excited about dinner wasn’t much of a show of faith. She settled for calling for delivery versus picking up the food, and transported to the gate near his townhouse. </p><p>It could have been worse. He wasn’t angry, nor nearly catatonic from exhaustion like he’d been that first night. He just looked terribly, terribly sad as he sat on the floor with his daughter, dully coaching her through a vibrantly colored wooden puzzle. “Tom? Everything OK?”</p><p>He blinked at her. “I thought you were bringing dinner.”</p><p>“It’s on the way. I settled on pizza. That’s always a safe choice, isn’t it?”</p><p>He nodded and went back to Miral’s puzzle. The pizza arrived only a few minutes later, and the three ate in relative quiet — that is, Tom and Kathryn were quiet, and Miral kept up regular cheerful babble. When Kathryn found herself starting a third slice just to do something, she broke. “What happened?”</p><p>Tom opened his mouth, his expression bland, and she knew he was going to answer with some deflection or joke. She was just about to call him on it, when his face fell. “I tried to recycle some of her stuff. It… It didn’t go well.” </p><p>That certainly explained his mood. “Maybe it’s too soon. It’s only been three weeks.”</p><p>“But it’s just things, right? It’s just clothes. It wasn’t even clothes she used much. A dress she only wore once. Some maternity pants. The grief counselor suggested it. Do something symbolic, he said. Pick something unimportant. One tiny step towards letting go. And I couldn’t even do that.”</p><p>“It’s going to take time, Tom.”</p><p>“But how much?” he said. “How long am I going to feel like this? How long can I live like this? I wish I could just hit a button and skip all this crap, get to the end. Feel better. I just want it to stop hurting so much.”</p><p>“I know. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t say that.” Tom stood and started to clear the table. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so sad — how Tom cleaned and tidied when it all got to be too much for him. “Don’t say you’re sorry. It’s all anyone says and it doesn’t help. But you… you’ve helped. So you don’t have rely on platitudes. You don’t need them.” He shook his head and shoulders like a dog coming out of the rain, then turned to his pizza-sauce spotted child. “Looks like you need a bath tonight, kiddo.”</p><p>“No Daddy!” she shouted back. “Mommy do it!”</p><p>Kathryn’s stomach sank to the floor. “Miral,” she started, but Tom was already kneeling by her high chair.</p><p>“No, sweetie. Mommy can’t do it. Do you remember I told you? Mommy died. Mommy can’t be with us anymore.”</p><p>“No Daddy!” she shouted louder, her lips starting to tremble. “Mommy do bath!”</p><p>Tom stood, wiped his hands down his pants a few times, then began to unbuckle Miral from the chair. “They’d had this game. It was like a kind of singing game.” His voice was getting louder and louder to drown out Miral’s protests. “Did you know B’Elanna could sing? She wouldn’t do it for anyone but Miral. Not even me. I had to hide outside the bathroom to hear her.” </p><p>Just as he freed Miral’s legs from the chair, she lashed out with her right foot, catching him hard in the groin. “Crap,” he grunted, dropping her back into the chair. “Oh wow, that hurt.” </p><p>Clearly Kathryn needed to take control of the situation. “Miral,” she said in her best admiral voice. “You need to calm down. Now.” </p><p>But Miral screamed louder, her cheeks now red and tears streaming down her cheeks. “Mommy! Mommy! No Ant Rin! No Daddy!”</p><p>Kathryn could get louder, too. “Stop that, Miral! Right now!” She moved towards the chair, ready to drag child bodily to the tub upstairs, when she felt a retraining hand on her arm. </p><p>“Don’t, Kathryn,” Tom said, barely audible over Miral’s screams. “It’s OK. She just misses her.” He lifted his daughter again, this time being a bit more careful about where he aimed her legs, and clutched her body to his chest. “Shh, shh, sweetie. I know. I know you want Mommy. I’m sorry.” </p><p>She bucked and hit him with her arms, tried to kick him again, but Tom only held her tighter, keeping up his soothing litany. After a few moments, her movements began to slow and her screams became closer to whimpers. “Mommy. Want Mommy.”</p><p>“I want her, too, kiddo,” Tom murmured, and Kathryn could see his tears. “Good thing we have each other, though, right? Especially since you destroyed a few hundred of your potential siblings with that kick. Let’s go take a bath.” He smiled at Kathryn. “You can go, if you want. Thanks for dinner. And sorry about this.”</p><p>Kathryn smiled and shook her head, waving him off. She didn’t go, of course. How could she leave him alone after the day he’d had? She finished cleaning up the dinner dishes, put the rest of the pizza in the stasis drawer, and wiped down Miral’s high chair. </p><p>She’d known how much Tom had grown and matured during his years on Voyager — the whole crew did — but seeing how calmly and kindly he handled his tantrumming daughter, even while still swimming in the depths of his own grief — it gave her a new, deep respect for him. How could Owen fail to see it? What an incredible man his son had become? </p><p>Thirty minutes later, Tom was back downstairs, a damp and content Miral snuggled against his shoulder. He smiled when he saw Kathryn. “You’re still here.”</p><p>“I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”</p><p>He nodded. “We’re fine. Or, we’re getting there.” He rocked Miral in his arms a little and her eyes started to close. “I should put her to bed, but… I want to thank you. For everything you’ve done this week. It may not seem like it, but it’s made a huge difference. For me and Miral.”</p><p>“It’s nothing, Tom.” </p><p>“That’s not true, and we both know it. But I wanted to make sure you knew — how grateful I am. We’re going to miss you.”</p><p>Kathryn gave him a puzzled frown. “Why? Where am I going?”</p><p>“Oh,” Tom said. “My dad mentioned the mission with the Kanom last night. The way he was talking, I assumed you were going.”</p><p>Owen. It would have been nice if he’d asked her <em>before</em> he’d told everyone she was taking it. And she still might — it was a good mission. But… Tom was so alone. His wife was gone, no close friends nearby, his family relationships troubled at best. It seemed cruel, to be one more person who abandoned him just as he started to find his equilibrium. “Actually,” she said. “I think I want to stay on Earth for a bit. My mother’s health has been a bit rocky.” (Kathryn hoped she wasn’t cursing the hale and hearty Gretchen with this tiniest of white lies) “And I’ve had my apartment for nearly eighteen months now and still haven’t had time to decorate. I think I need a bit of a break.”</p><p>Tom’s whole face lit up. “Yeah? You’re not taking it?”</p><p>Not after she saw his look of relief. “No. I just haven’t told your father yet.”</p><p>“That’s great news,” Tom said with a grin. He chucked his sleepy daughter under the chin. “Hear that, sweetie? Your Aunt Kathryn’s going to be hanging around a while.”</p><p>“Ant Rin?” she muttered through the pacifier in her mouth. </p><p>“Yes, Miral,” Kathryn said, cupping her soft baby cheek. “I’m right here.”<br/> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Up!” Miral commanded as soon as her swing hit the nadir of its arc.</p>
<p>Tom grinned and gave the padded green seat another gentle shove. “Yes, ma’am.” </p>
<p>He did like this playground. It wasn’t one of those fancy, overwrought ones with their orbital swings or hover climbers. This was the old-fashioned kind, with equipment that operated solely on the properties of basic Newtonian physics — gravity, inertia, velocity and acceleration. Just force acting on matter. </p>
<p>“Up, Daddy!”</p>
<p>It had been a good day, surprisingly enough. Tom was thinking it was maybe the very first one he’d had since B’Elanna. He’d been dreading it, when he’d gotten out of the bed this morning. He was back teaching part-time, and the first several days had been a disaster. It was only three classes a week — Miral didn’t have to be with her nanny for more than four hours at a time at most. But, every time Haria arrived, Miral would scream her head off, only to get louder when Tom went to leave. He’d nearly canceled his class his first day back; probably the only reason he hadn’t was he’d had the foresight to ask Kathryn to have breakfast with them and help ease the transition. Each time had been fractionally better, though Tom still felt like his heart was being ripped apart when he’d left and closed the door on his daughter’s crying. But this morning, Miral had been fine. “‘Aria!” she’d said with delight at her nanny’s arrival.  </p>
<p>“She did great today, Mr. Paris,” Haria had said, when Tom had come home after lunch. “We learned all about shapes, didn’t we, Miral?”</p>
<p>“Scare! Surple!” Miral had agreed, waving the relevant plastic doohickeys in his direction. </p>
<p>After Haria had left, Miral and Tom had taken a good nap together on the couch, then came here to the playground, and, in about fifteen minutes, Kathryn would be meeting them and they’d all head home for dinner. Yeah, Tom thought. Good day.</p>
<p>If anyone had asked him, two years ago, whom he thought he was likely to remain closest to after <em>Voyager</em> got home, he wasn’t sure Kathryn would have broken the top ten. He’d always had a great deal of respect for her, and even more gratitude. Even during the peak of their falling out over Monea, when he’d been sitting on the brig, alone, thinking and thinking and thinking, he had never completely lost his admiration of her. But she’d changed over their seven years in the DQ. Not that Tom blamed her for that. She’d been, essentially, alone. Sure, she’d had Tuvok, and, on a more complicated level, Chakotay, to rely on. But she’d still been the one in charge; the one who had to make every final call.</p>
<p>After that starless void, even after she’d left her quarters and starting being their captain again, she hadn’t been the same. It had been subtle — she’d still had a smile for even the lowest rank crew member, she’d still put her hand on Tom’s shoulder or would squeeze Harry’s arm in encouragement. But her edges had gotten harder. More brittle. She’d stopped socializing as much, spent more time alone in her ready room. Thinking of their last couple of years out there, Tom was pressed to think of anyone who had still seen Janeway outside of an official capacity. She’d spent more time with Q, or that Irish hologram, than she had with any of the members of the crew. Her dinners with Chakotay, pool at Sandrine’s, even hover ball with Seven — they’d all ended. Tom figured that, after they’d returned the Alpha Quadrant, she’d ride off into the metaphorical sunset and they’d all be lucky to be graced with an occasional holiday letter or maybe a brief chat at a reunion. </p>
<p>Which, prior to B’Elanna’s death, was pretty much what had happened. Those first, few awful days after she died — when it had been a blur of sad faces and tears and a struggle to breathe — Tom hadn’t even registered Janeway’s presence, or lack thereof. He had a vague memory of a subspace call, though he couldn’t recall exactly what either of them had said. The one thing he did remember was his lack of surprise when she’d told him she wouldn’t be able to make it to the funeral. Of course, he’d thought. Of course she isn’t coming.</p>
<p>And then, a month ago, she <em>had</em> come. She’d shown up out of nowhere, and smoothed things over with his parents, and got Tom to sleep and eat and had thrown him a lifeline he hadn’t even wanted. But there was Miral; there would always be Miral. His living, breathing touchstone to B’Elanna. Tom had to keep going for her. So he’d taken Kathryn Janeway’s hand and let her drag him out of the hell he was sure he would never escape.</p>
<p>She’d saved him. Again. Him and Miral both. How could he ever repay her for that?</p>
<p>“Tom!” </p>
<p>Speak of the devil. Or guardian angel, in this case. “Look who’s here, kiddo.” He turned to wave before freeing Miral from the swing; she was already fighting hard against the safety belt. “Ant Rin!” she screeched, reaching towards her. “Ant Rin!”</p>
<p>Miral wanted Kathryn to carry her. Tom tried to intervene — the kid was <em>dense</em> — but Kathryn brushed him off. “I can carry one toddler for ten minutes, Tom. Leave us alone. Tell me how work is going.”</p>
<p>Fine, as always. He didn’t love his job teaching first and second-year cadets, but he didn’t hate it, either. He’d mostly taken it because B’Elanna was a workaholic and liked her job with the Corps of Engineers; they’d figured one of them should keep regular hours. It kept him on Earth and close to his wife and child, which wasn’t a given with most piloting jobs in Starfleet. Neither he nor B’Elanna had wanted it to be forever. They’d had plans, for when Miral was a little older and independent — maybe getting a posting on a family ship, or a deep space station. Even more appealing, leave Starfleet altogether. Open the ship design firm they’d always talked about. </p>
<p>But all those dreams were gone now. He had to stay safe and healthy; he was all Miral had. So, teaching. It wasn’t so bad. He’d been in far worse positions in his life. </p>
<p>“Tom?” Kathryn was making that face again. The worried one. </p>
<p>He smiled. “I’m fine. Just… wool gathering.” He reached for his daughter. “Let me take her. You look like you’re going to blow a hernia. Come here, sweetie.”</p>
<p>Kathryn looked fine, actually, beyond her concern for him. But sometimes, even with her, it was easier to hide than deal with things. Bury his face in his daughter’s berry-scented curls rather than let Kathryn see the tears that were so often on the verge of falling. They’d had a good day, he and Miral. He didn’t want to ruin with another wallowing session. </p>
<p>Kathryn, thankfully, took the hint and shared the latest boring but encouraging details from the Doctor’s campaign to be freed from the confines of Jupiter Station. Tom was grinning again by the time they got back to the house. It was hard not to when Kathryn told him Councilor Lance agreed to give further consideration to the Doctor’s petition if only he’d end the torture of a three-hour long slide presentation on the development of holographic sentience in the Federation. </p>
<p>When they got in the house, he saw one of the lights on their home comm system was blinking. “Can you hit that reminder for me?” he asked Kathryn while he knelt to wave the sanitizer over Miral’s hands and face. “I have no idea what it’s for, so I must need it.”  </p>
<p>“Don’t forget two days from now,” B’Elanna’s voice said. “The interview at the preschool.”</p>
<p>Miral’s tiny face beamed at him. “Mommy here!” she sang out. “Mommy! Where are you?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” Tom said, the sanitizer dropping from his shaking heads. “Oh, god.” His ears were buzzing; the room had gone hazy and dim around the edges. He saw hands swoop down and take Miral away, then his knees gave out and he fell hard onto his left hip. </p>
<p>“Tom? Tom, look at me. Come on. Look at me.” </p>
<p>A small but strong hand tugged on his sleeve. “Daddy! Daddy, where Mommy? Want Mommy!”</p>
<p>“Miral, stop that. Get away.” </p>
<p>The sternness of Kathryn’s tone made Tom blink. His vision cleared; Miral’s sad, frustrated face came into view. “It’s OK,” he said to Kathryn. “I’m OK. It just startled me. I wasn’t expecting it.”</p>
<p>More tugging. “Want Mommy!”</p>
<p>Tom picked her up and stood, moving from where Kathryn still knelt on the floor. “I know, sweetie, but she’s not here. That was just Mommy’s voice. Mommy can’t be with us anymore.” </p>
<p>“Hear Mommy?”</p>
<p>“You want to hear it again?” Tom asked her. She nodded, sniffling a little. He reached towards the comm interface, when Kathryn’s hand clamped over his. </p>
<p>“Don’t, Tom. You don’t need to do that to yourself.” </p>
<p>He shook his head. “It’s OK. It’s all I can give her. I can do it.” And he did, five times. There would have been a sixth if he hadn’t thought of the video Joe Carey (Is she with Joe now? Is he watching out for her somewhere, like he used to on Voyager?) had taken of the baby shower, or the one his mother had made of their first dinner all together on Earth. He set Miral up on the couch with a PADD and the videos on repeat, smiling a little as she yelled out the name of each person she recognized, but especially B’Elanna. She saved her loudest, happiest yells for when she saw B’Elanna.</p>
<p>Until Kathryn dragged him into the kitchen, sat him at the table, and wrapped his hands around a mug of hot tea. “You don’t have to keep listening to them, Tom. She’ll be fine for a little bit.” </p>
<p>He nodded. Every time. Every time he thought things were getting better, he’d get a reminder. A photo, a scent, her voice. How many times could a wound be ripped open before it would refuse to heal? “We were just starting to look at schools for her,” he said, feeling like he needed to explain the message. “Before. Intellectually, she’s ahead of most fully human kids her age. But I’m sure you won’t be shocked to hear, her emotional regulation is a little behind. It’s going to be another year before she goes, but we want to get a jump on it. You know? Do our research. Not rush into anything. First time parents. Or parent, I guess now. But either way—”</p>
<p>“Tom,” Kathryn said gently. “You’re babbling.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“What can I do? What will help right now?”</p>
<p>Go back in time again and warn him to not let B’Elanna go to work that day? Tom rubbed at his face. He must be doing better after all, as he’d regained enough of his filter to keep that idea to himself. “Nothing. I’m fine. Really. It’s been a month and half. I have to be fine by now, right?” He got up to get some distance from the pity on her face. “So what do you want for dinner? I feel like I’m always choosing. Tell me what you’re in the mood for. My replicator is your replicator.”</p>
<p>Kathryn picked roast chicken and minestrone soup (she’d tried with that vegetable bouillon bullshit, but Tom insisted broth was a drink and not a side dish, and she’d conceded the point), he wrestled his PADD away from Miral, and they had another quiet, quiet dinner. “See Mommy?” Miral asked, as Tom wiped bits of pasta and chicken grease from her face. It felt like being stabbed in the chest, but he reached for the PADD. “Sure, sweetie. We can—” And there was that hand on his wrist again.</p>
<p>“Actually, Miral,” Kathryn said. “I have another idea. Have you ever heard of Mary Poppins?”</p>
<p>“She’s not big into change right now,” Tom said. “I don’t think—” </p>
<p>Kathryn waved him quiet. “Mary Poppins is wonderful, Miral. There’s singing, and a merry-go-round, and dancing penguins.”</p>
<p>Miral squinted at her. “Peggins?”</p>
<p>Tom held his breath. She did like penguins. But would this really work? Could Kathryn Janeway save him from being tortured by videos of his dead wife just by the promise of penguins?</p>
<p>“Dancing penguins,” Kathryn repeated.</p>
<p>“Peggins, Ant Rin! Peggins!”</p>
<p>They all settled on the couch together, Miral insisting on sitting in Kathryn’s lap. Per his former captain’s advice, Tom skipped past most of the early parts of the movie and only stopped once Mary, Bert, and the kids jumped into the chalk painting. They’d cycled through the next fifteen minutes or so of the movie three times before Kathryn nudged Tom on the arm. “I think we can be spared a fourth round, Tom.”</p>
<p>She’d fallen asleep in Kathryn’s arms. The gorgeous, funny, feisty owner of what was left of his ruined heart had curled into a perfect ball, thumb stuck firmly between her sweet, pouty lips, and passed out on the lap of one of the toughest admirals in the ‘Fleet. “I’ll grab her,” Tom whispered, but for the third time that night, Kathryn put out a hand to stop him. </p>
<p>“Let her stay for a moment,” she said, softly stroking her brown curls. “I never get to see her quiet like this.”</p>
<p>Tom chuckled. “Yeah, she’s a lot all right. Easier to take when she’s asleep.”</p>
<p>Kathryn looked up at that, and he was surprised to see the hurt in her face. “I didn’t meant it like that. Miral is a wonderful child, awake or asleep. I just meant it’s a different side to her. One I don’t get to see.”</p>
<p>Tom sat and watched them both for a moment, thinking this wasn’t a side he ever got to see of Kathryn, either. Oh, he’d seen her be caring plenty of times, especially in the last month. But never so soft, so enraptured, so full of gentle awe. What must it be like for her, alone in the small, sterile apartment she kept near HQ? He’d seen it for the first time last week, when he’d dropped off a book she’d loaned him. “It’s… uh, very nice,” he’d spit out, frankly horrified at how grey and lifeless it felt.</p>
<p>Kathryn, of course, had seen right through him. “It’s terrible. And it was supposed to be temporary. But I was going on so many missions; finding a new place never felt like a priority. It’s fine, though. Suits my purposes.”</p>
<p>Fine. How many times had he used that word to describe his mental state in the last six weeks? If Kathryn’s “fine” was anywhere in the same galaxy as Tom’s, that terrible apartment was probably slowly crushing her soul. He’d been so caught up in his grief, in Miral, had he asked her even once in the last month how she’d been doing? What was going on in her life? Why she’d turned down the mission his father thought was perfect for her? </p>
<p>“Why don’t you stay?” Tom said suddenly. </p>
<p>Kathryn stared at him. “What?”</p>
<p>“For the night,” he clarified. “In the guest room. It’s getting late. And it’s dark. I can’t walk you to the transport gate with Miral asleep.”</p>
<p>She continued to stare at him. “What planet do you think we’re on, Tom? Has there been a recent crime spree in the Mission I don’t know about? Did the Borg invade Earth during the movie?”</p>
<p>("Well done, Flyboy. Very subtle.”)</p>
<p>“OK, you’re right,” he said to Kathryn. “You are perfectly capable of walking to the transport gate by yourself. Stay because I want you to.”</p>
<p>Her expression didn’t budge. “You want me to?”</p>
<p>“Stay because Miral likes spending time with you,” Tom said. “Stay because I worry you’re lonely sometimes and I feel bad I never ask you how you are. Stay because I really miss my wife, and you being around makes it a little easier for me.”</p>
<p>Finally, he got a smile, if a sad one. “When you put it like that,” she said. “I guess I will.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m sorry to hear that, Harry,” Kathryn said into her monitor. “I wish there was more I could do.” </p>
<p>Poor Harry. Stuck at lieutenant j.g., even two years after <em>Voyager</em>’s return. If he hadn’t been trapped in the Delta Quadrant for seven years, he likely would have been a lieutenant commander by now. Even worse was he seemed to be permanently assigned to the Beta Quadrant, lucky to make it back to Earth and see his parents once a year — his latest request for a transfer had been denied.</p>
<p>“Please, Admiral,” he said with his trademarked generous and kind Harry Kim smile. “You’ve done so much for me already.”</p>
<p>She’d done very little, really. Only put in as many good words as she could, to balance our her log entries on his dealings with the Kraylor and the Varro. She’d done very little for any of <em>Voyager</em>’s senior staff, as a matter of fact. Tuvok had permanently resigned from Starfleet, as his neurological condition was manageable, but only on Vulcan and only if he minimized his stress. The Doctor was still trapped on Jupiter Station, his progress towards freedom having made only the most incremental of steps. Seven was at the Vulcan Science Academy and barely spoke to her; she didn't even know where Chakotay was. Dorvan, maybe, but it's not like they'd been in contact in months. </p>
<p>“How’s Tom?” Harry asked. “He says he’s doing OK every time we talk, but it’s Tom. He’d say he was doing OK while a trayken beast was chewing on his arm.”</p>
<p>Kathryn smiled. At least there was Tom. One person she could put in the win column. “He’s being honest with you, for once. I don’t want to claim he’s a hundred percent, but he really is better — both him and Miral.” He was still only teaching part-time, and she knew he didn’t think much of the grief counselor he’d been assigned, but he smiled a lot more than he used to. He’d put some weight back on, said he was sleeping better. Even Miral’s obsession with videos of B’Elanna had finally started to wane.</p>
<p>“I feel terrible,” Harry said. “That I couldn’t stay longer to help him. I begged my CO for a couple more weeks, but—”</p>
<p>“Harry,” Kathryn said. “It’s not your fault. Tom understands. He’s being honest about that, too.” Tom <em>did</em> understand; moreover, he’d confessed to Kathryn he’d been relieved when Harry had left, as seeing the younger man’s grief had made everything that much harder. </p>
<p>“I’m glad you’re there for him, Admiral,” Harry said. “In case he’s too much of a dope to tell you himself, I know Tom is, too.”</p>
<p>Kathryn smiled. “It’s the least I can do. I have to sign-off, Harry; I’ve got a press conference. But hang in there. I’ll keep asking around — see what I can do about getting you stationed a little closer to Earth.”</p>
<p>Harry thanked her profusely as always, and they wished each other well. Kathryn rubbed her face as soon as the monitor went dark. It was so frustrating. Desperate for positivity after the devastation of the Dominion War, Starfleet had deemed <em>Voyager</em>’s homecoming the feel-good story of the year. They’d feted Kathryn as a hero, splashed her face all over the newsfeeds, then quietly swept the rest of the crew under the carpet. It was only because of B’Elanna’s brilliance and her ties to the Paris family she’d been able to  stay in Starfleet. All of the rest of the former Maquis and Equinox crew had been stripped of their ranks and benefits and told, in not so many words, they should be grateful they were allowed to walk free. Ironically, Tom’s status as a convict had helped him, as those in charge saw him as having already paid his debt. </p>
<p>The ‘Fleet crew fared little better. Kathryn’s protests that she hadn’t followed normal promotion schedules because of their unique situation and that it should not be seen as a reflection of her crew’s performance had gone nowhere. The luckiest, like Harry, had been promoted a single rank, but Starfleet seemed to view the lot as though they’d only served on <em>Voyager</em>’s original six-week mission, rather than living through the fighting and loss and survival that had been their reality for seven years.</p>
<p>She’d tried — she’d lobbied on behalf of each and every member of <em>Voyager</em>’s crew. She’d agreed to this terrible assignment in the PR Corps. She’d used every connection she had, her father had, Owen Paris had. She’d plastered on a fake smile and told everyone how wonderful Starfleet was, how generous, how wise. Yet, she couldn’t even get Harry Kim — the hardest working, most decent officer she’d ever had the pleasure of meeting — a reasonable assignment or the rank he deserved. </p>
<p>A reminder alert sounded. Right. The damn press conference. At least this one would be easy. Just a basic update on the ‘Fleet’s recent commitment to sending medical aid and food supplies to the Federation colonies on the border of the Grippon sector. The area had been besieged by a cluster of ion storms in the past four months, and normal cargo ships weren’t able to reliably traverse the region. If the ‘Fleet wanted feel-good stories, this was one of them — low cost, apolitical humanitarian aid. Nothing easier. </p>
<p>Afterwards, she could flee the grounds and buildings that had lately felt more like a prison than the gateway to adventure and exploration they once had. She could go meet Tom at the flight school, they’d collect Miral from Haria, and the three of them could visit the playground again, or go for ice cream. She chuckled to herself as she straightened her uniform jacket and checked her hair. Who would have predicted that the ambitious, tenacious Kathryn Janeway would get so much pleasure and joy from something as simple as watching a toddler go down a slide?</p>
<p>The fact was, Kathryn had become almost as dependent on their little makeshift family unit as Tom had. She didn’t stay in the guest room every night — she had her fair share of late night subspace calls and terrible diplomatic receptions to attend. But she did spend at least three or four nights a week there. She looked forward to their dinners together, either at the house, or, as Tom’s emotional stated had improved, out in various restaurants along the Pacific coast. She taken to giving Miral her bath on nights she was with them, though she wasn’t allowed to sing. (“No, Ant Rin,” Miral had said solemnly that first night, putting her whole hand over Kathryn’s mouth. “No sing.”)</p>
<p>But mostly, she liked spending time with Tom. </p>
<p>She’d known, of course, that he wasn’t the same cynical and defensive man from Auckland. But he also wasn’t the loyal, daredevil smart ass from their earlier years on <em>Voyager,</em> nor even the still impulsive, still wise-cracking, but largely domesticated husband and father from the last few years. He was thoughtful in a way that she wasn’t sure she’d recognized before. Kind, insightful, even introspective. Kathryn wasn’t sure how much was because of B’Elanna’s passing and how much had been there all along, but she did know she liked seeing it. Liked talking with him about politics, books, their childhoods. Enjoyed hearing about his students, and appreciated his opinions on her work. Their long conversations over the meals he replicated or sometimes cooked, during walks along the Bay or in Golden Gate Park — they’d brought a depth and satisfaction to her life she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Not since maybe her time on New Earth with Chakotay. Not since Mark.</p>
<p>Kathryn shook her head. No, not like Chakotay or Mark. Not at all. Tom was mourning a wife he’d been devoted to and had only lost a few months prior. He did not belong in the same category as the other two, not remotely. He was a good friend and a good sounding board, and that was all he would ever be. It would be months or even years before Tom would be ready for another romantic relationship, and he and Kathryn had far too much history for them as a couple to ever make sense. </p>
<p>Lieutenant Gupta from the press office met her by the turbolift bank. “Are you ready, Admiral Janeway?” </p>
<p>“As always, Lieutenant,” she said. “Let’s try to keep this quick, all right?”</p>
<p>“That shouldn’t be a problem, Admiral.”</p>
<p>It shouldn’t have been, but it was. </p>
<p>It had started out just as Kathryn had predicted — a series of softball questions about why regular cargo vessels couldn’t handle the ion storms, what sort of ships were being sent to Grippon, what were the dangers to the ‘Fleet crews. But then…</p>
<p>“Admiral, I have some questions in relation to your tenure on <em>Voyager</em>.”</p>
<p>Kathryn had raised an eyebrow at the young male human sitting in the fourth row. This wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with such reporters, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. “I’m afraid that’s beyond the scope of this briefing. If you’d like to contact my office afterwards, we can look into a separate meeting.”</p>
<p>“Of course, Admiral, but this is related to Grippon if you’ll bare with me. I’m wondering if you’ve heard the former Commander Chakotay’s statement.”</p>
<p>She glanced at Gupta, who gave her a discreet shrug. “I’m not sure which statement you’re referring to.”</p>
<p>“I’ll take that as a no. It was only made an hour ago, on a non-Federation channel transmitting from Trylus IX? Mr. Chakotay said, and this is a quote, that he ‘doesn’t understand why Starfleet is so gung-ho to help colonies with a history of harboring Cardassian war criminals when Federation citizens are struggling on Dorvan, Daw Meuxng, and Trylus.’”</p>
<p>“The ‘harboring’ he’s referring to was one incident on one of the relevant colonies, and was resolved over three years ago. It has no bearing on the current situation with Grippon.”</p>
<p>“Is Mr. Chakotay aware of that? Have you discussed Grippon with him directly?”</p>
<p>“Of course not,” Kathryn said automatically. She was a professional. She’d faced down far tougher adversaries than one reporter. “I don’t discuss Starfleet business with those who no longer serve in its ranks.”</p>
<p>“And why doesn’t he serve in its ranks anymore, Admiral? Was he this outspoken when he served on as your first officer on <em>Voyager</em>? Was his rank stripped as punishment?”</p>
<p>She felt a flash of anger at Chakotay. He had every right to his opinions and to share them with whomever he pleased, but she doesn’t hear a peep from him in over ten months and this is how he shows up her in life again? “I was not responsible for deciding which of my former crew were allowed to remain in service. I made my recommendations and that was extent of my role. But this is all very well-trodden ground, Mr…?” She punctuated her question with the famed Janeway glare.</p>
<p>He didn’t even blink. “Trager, from the Martian Planetary Daily. Is that why you didn’t attend B’Elanna Torres’ funeral? Was it to avoid speaking with Mr. Chakotay?”</p>
<p>Patience officially at an end. “The loss of Lieutenant Torres was a tragedy for the Engineering Corps, Starfleet, and the entire <em>Voyager</em> family, and I will not let it be used for ‘gotcha’ points by some tabloid reporter working for an organization better known for its stories on drummed up celebrity scandals than real news. This press conference is over.”</p>
<p>She strode out of the room, ignoring the yelled questions from Trager and the rest of the press. Gupta followed her at fast clip. “Admiral Janeway! Wait!” she panted. “I’ve just gotten a message from Admiral Maguire. She just read Mr. Chakotay’s statement and wants you to respond. She said—”</p>
<p>“If Maguire wants to respond,” Kathryn said, her voice laced with ice. “She can get her butt off her chair, get down here, and do it her damn self. And if I ever see that reporter in a press briefing again, I’ll get you transferred to a deep space garbage freighter. Do you understand me, Lieutenant?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Admiral.”</p>
<p>“Good. I’m done for the day. You can pass that onto Maguire, too.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Admiral.”</p>
<p>She went to the holo-gym in her building after that, sweating our her anger and frustration and guilt over two hours of solo hoverball. When she finally made her way up to her apartment, dirty, sore, and disgusted, she saw that her comm was lit up with messages. One from Maguire, one from Owen, and three from Tom.</p>
<p>“Damn,” she said when she started playback. She’d completely forgotten she was supposed to meet him after the press conference.</p>
<p>“Hey, Kathryn,” the first message said. “I know how much you<em> love</em> talking to reporters,” and Kathryn could almost hear him rolling his eyes, “but I’m going to be late for Haria if I don’t leave in five.” The second had a similarly jocular tone and told her to meet him and Miral for ice cream if she was up for it. </p>
<p>The third, from only ten minutes ago, was far less sarcastic and a lot more concerned. “I, uh… saw the news. That Trager guy is a jackass. I hope you’re OK. Call me, will ya? You’re supposed to be worried about me, not the other way around.”</p>
<p>She started to call him back, then stopped and went to shower instead, thinking about his last message. Tom was right. She’d started this whole… whatever it was, because she was worried about him. He was a friend, the son of her mentor, something of a protegee, and he’d lost his wife. She wanted to help him heal. That had been all it was. </p>
<p>But that wasn’t what it was anymore, was it? You didn’t sleep in the guest room of your protegee four or five times a week. You didn’t find yourself thinking of your platonic friend every time you heard a joke you thought he’d laugh at, or saw a flower that was the same color blue as his eyes. </p>
<p>That settled it. She needed to back off. Tom was better — he didn’t need someone to constantly hold his hand. Miral was better, too. She had Haria, her aunts, her grandparents. Kathryn would send Tom a simple text as soon as she got out of the shower — tell him she was fine but tired and they’d talk in a few days. They already had dinner plans for Saturday — Tom said he was making her his famous beef bourgignon — but instead of staying the night, she’d gather up the things she’d left there. She’d tell Tom she was getting busier at HQ, that she missed her alone time, that she wanted to give him some space to find his feet on his own. </p>
<p>She sent him the message. Not five minutes passed before her comm buzzed again. She ignored it.</p>
<p>It was harder to ignore the door chime twenty minutes later, though. She hit the intercom. “What are you doing here? Where’s Miral?”</p>
<p>“At my parents’ house. They’ve been begging to take her overnight for weeks. Let me in.”</p>
<p>“Tom, I’m already in my pajamas. I’ve had a long day.”</p>
<p>“Which is exactly why you need the java chip sundae that’s currently melting in my hands. Come on! I’m getting really messy down here.”</p>
<p>She buzzed him in and left the door open. Fine. She’d take care of this right now. </p>
<p>“Tom,” she started as soon as he crossed her threshold.</p>
<p>“Let me get this in the stasis drawer first,” he said, brushing past her. “Where are the controls? I needed to re-freeze this sucker while it’s still salvageable.”</p>
<p>Once he’d saved the sundae and washed his hands, Kathryn tried again. “Tom—” </p>
<p>“No,” he said, coming to stand in front of her.</p>
<p>She frowned back at him. “No?”</p>
<p>“Let me guess,” he said. “It’s suddenly occurred to you that we’re spending too much time together. That you wanted to talk to me after that terrible press conference a little too much. That you like spending time with me and with Miral more than you’re comfortable with. Am I on the right track?”</p>
<p>“If you’re trying to be annoying.”</p>
<p>He grinned. “That’s a yes if I ever heard one.” </p>
<p>Kathryn was torn between wanting to smack him and give him a hug. “Are you done?”</p>
<p>“Nope,” he said, taking a step closer. “Because you’re still thinking it’s not right — for you to need anyone. It was fine when I was a complete wreck and had to rely on you to even get out of bed in the morning, but now, the second you let yourself think ‘maybe Tom and Miral could cheer me up after a bad day,’ you decide it’s not OK. That it’s crossing some weird boundary no one thinks exists but you.”</p>
<p>She crossed her arms tight across her chest. “That’s not what I’m doing.”</p>
<p>“Then why are you backing away from me?”</p>
<p>She uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her hips instead. “Because you’re invading my personal space.”</p>
<p>That earned her another grin. “You forget I served on your bridge for seven years, Admiral. Your concept of personal space is loose at best.” He eased back a step, though. “Look, if you want me to leave, I’ll leave. But I’m not going to let you throw this away. I still need you. So does Miral. And it’s OK if you need us a little bit, too.” </p>
<p>Kathryn finally decided on the hug. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek into his warm, solid chest. “It’s not easy for me, Tom. It was a very long seven years.”</p>
<p>“I know,” he said into her ear. “But they’re over. And you’re here, and so am I, and I’m not even remotely in your chain of command anymore.” He pulled back a little so he could look her in the eyes. “It’s not a breach of protocol to need a friend. There’s nothing in the Admiral Handbook that says you always have to go it alone.”</p>
<p>Her lips quirked. “How would you know?”</p>
<p>“I snuck a look at my dad’s copy.”</p>
<p>Tom. She did need him. She needed his smile. His warmth. His persistence. She maybe even needed his grief, in a way. “Thank you,” she said, cupping his cheek. </p>
<p>“You’re welcome,” he murmured, angling his face towards her. Just a hair closer than before. </p>
<p>Just enough for her to kiss him. </p>
<p>He sprang backwards as if he’d been burned. “Oh… Uh…”</p>
<p>Kathryn closed her eyes. <em>What the hell is the matter with me?</em> “Tom, I’m so sorry. That was completely inappropriate.”</p>
<p>He smiled again, but it wasn’t the easy grin of before. This one was false, and a little pained, and a lot confused. “S’OK. These things happen sometimes. Men, women, sexual… people.” He opened and closed his mouth like a carp, then waved vaguely at the door. “Maybe I should go.”</p>
<p>“That would probably be for the best.”</p>
<p>He bolted for the exit, but froze and turned in her open doorway. “This doesn’t change anything. About what I said earlier. I’m still your friend. You’re still coming to dinner on Saturday and giving Miral her bath. She’d never forgive me if you didn’t. OK? We don’t have to… We can just forget it happened.”</p>
<p>Kathryn nodded. “OK, Tom. I’ll see you Saturday.”</p>
<p>He smiled, relieved, and left. </p>
<p>Kathryn washed the sundae down with two glasses of wine. Falling in love with Tom Paris was a terrible idea. It was ridiculous, and wrong, and very definitely not allowed.</p>
<p>And it was exactly what Kathryn worried she was doing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I think you’re making a hasty decision.”</p><p>Tom really wanted to roll his eyes, or stick out his tongue, or maybe even flip the guy off, but he restrained himself and only gave his soon-to-be-former grief counselor a bland smile. “You’ve said that. But it’s been three months since it happened and I’ve been seeing you for two of them, and I think we’ve reached the limit of how much you can help me.”</p><p>“‘It?’ You can’t even say the words aloud, Tom.”</p><p>Now he did roll his eyes. “B’Elanna, my wife, the mother of my child, the love of my life, died three months ago. There? Happy?”</p><p>“Not even remotely,” the man said. He picked up the PADD on his side table. “I can’t say I disagree with you that I’ve helped as much as I can. I’m not an idiot, Tom. I know we don’t gel. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still benefit from counseling. I’m sending you some names.Call one of them. Please. Do this one thing for me.”</p><p>“Sure, Pravith,” he said, knowing he absolutely would not. “And thank you. I do appreciate what you’ve done for me. Really.”</p><p>Pravith’s turn to roll his eyes, but Tom didn’t care. He’d completed the mandatory number of sessions the ‘Fleet required, hated every single one of them, and was finally free. He knew Pravith meant well, but how helpful was it, really, to talk about his grief over and over and over again? B’Elanna was gone, she was never coming back, and it still hurt like fuck. How many different ways could he say that? He’d survived seven years of DQ mishaps and trauma without a counselor, he’d survive this, too.</p><p>Free of the confines of Pravith’s office, Tom decided to walk home. It was a nice day out, a bit overcast but no rain in the forecast and the breeze off the ocean was mild. Hopefully Haria had been able to tire Miral out while he’d been out, and she’d be content to hang out with a tablet or some books while he got to work.</p><p>Because it wasn’t just his useless counselor he’d decided to free himself of today; it was also B’Elanna’s stuff.</p><p>He hadn’t touched anything of hers since that completely failed attempt two months’ prior, but it was silly to keep hanging on to it. He’d keep a few things. Her old toolkit, the bat’leth, Toby the targ. Those would be good keepsakes for Miral when she was older. (A year or so in the case of the careworn Toby, at least a decade for the bat’leth.) Tom would hang onto pictures of her, of course, and that handful of videos. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized holding onto B’Elanna’s belongings was making it harder to let go. And maybe it was time to do that. He had a daughter to raise, a career to figure out, and a very specific auburn-haired, grey-eyed complication he wasn’t quite sure what to do with yet. Keeping a closet full of his dead wife’s clothes wasn’t helping him with any of it.</p><p>Especially not that last one. It had been two days since Kathryn had kissed him. He felt pretty awful about how he’d reacted. It couldn’t do much for the old self-esteem if, when you kissed someone, they flew off your lips like you’d phasered them instead. But he’d been completely blindsided! He liked Kathryn a lot. He’d even go so far as to say he loved her. But definitely not in a romantic way! </p><p>Probably not in a romantic way. </p><p>A couple of months ago, a couple of days ago, he’d have laughed at the idea of her kissing him. Not that she wasn’t sexy as hell. Far from it. The woman had sexual chemistry with a phaser rifle, for god’s sake. But that’s never how Tom had seen her. She was his former captain. Someone he respected. Someone he owed a lot to. She was a mentor, maybe, or like an older sister.</p><p>Except, since that kiss, he’d been thinking about her in a way he had never, ever (ever!) thought about Kathleen or Moira. He’d been thinking about how soft her lips were. The silkiness of her hair. The low rasp of her voice…</p><p>Tom sighed as he turned onto Dolores Street. Sex. That’s all this was about it. It had to be! He and B’Elanna had been pretty active in that department, even after Miral had shown up. Her death had put his libido on ice for a while, now it was coming back, and Kathryn just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was definitely just about sex.</p><p>Unless it wasn’t.</p><p>Damn it. Tom wished there was someone he could talk to about this. But he’d just fired his therapist, and who did that leave? Not his parents, nor his sisters — Moira was a prude, and Kathleen would just tell him he was depraved and needed to find a new counselor. He chuckled to himself at the reaction he’d get from Harry if he told him, but, while it was amusing, it sure wouldn’t be helpful. </p><p>Actually, he knew exactly who would be perfect to talk to about this. Someone who’d laugh and tease him endlessly, but would also know exactly how to advise him and what he should do. After all, half the time she’d understood him better than he understood himself. </p><p>Of course, if she were still around for him to talk to, this wouldn’t even be an issue.</p><p>And, just like that, he’d circled back around to missing B’Elanna like he was missing a piece of his heart. He jogged up his front steps, eager to see his daughter — his best reminder of B’Elanna and also his best distraction from her loss.</p><p>Yup. Definitely time to put her stuff away. Definitely time to start letting go.</p><p>Two hours later, and he hadn’t made quite as much progress as he’d hoped. He’d thought about recycling all of it to start, just putting aside those few things for Miral, but, after five minutes of staring at B’Elanna’s favorite plum-colored dress in the recycler and not being able to hit the button, he’d put the kibosh on that idea. So, storage crates it was. He was still getting it out of his house. It still counted.</p><p>“Tom?” he heard his father’s voice call out. “Miral? Where are you?”</p><p>Tom checked to ensure Miral was still passed out on his bed, then went to the top of the stairs. “Up here, Dad,” he whispered. “Miral’s taking a nap.”</p><p>His father slipped quietly into the bedroom. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Nothing really.” Tom lowered himself back to the floor. “Just cleaning up a little. What’s up?”</p><p>“Your mother said you left a message. Needed help with something.”</p><p>Tom shook his head. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean for you to come out here. I just wanted to know if I could store some boxes at the house. I don’t have anywhere good to keep them.”</p><p>Owen picked his way around the piles of clothing on the floor. “These boxes? What are they… Oh.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>His father knelt by the one closest to him. “Tom… are you sure you want these things in storage? All of this?” He was holding up the end of the bat’leth so that the sun glinted off one, razor-sharp tip. </p><p>“That’s why I put it in there,” Tom said, focusing on his folding. Why did his father have to be like this? Why did he have to question every damn thing he did, like Tom wasn’t old enough, or smart enough, or whatever enough to figure it out for himself?</p><p>“But…” Owen was up and moving around now, checking the contents of each crate, then scanning the walls of the bedroom. “This one has all your photos. Even that one from your honeymoon.”</p><p>“Never mind,” Tom said, now throwing the clothes any old way into the box. “Forget I asked. I’ll get a storage facility or just recycle the lot of it. You don’t need to do anything.” </p><p>“Son.” Owen knelt beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. Please. We’re happy to keep them for you. Whatever you need.”</p><p>Tom nodded. “OK. Thanks.” He began digging out the more rumpled clothing items and refolding them. How long could they sit here in the quiet, with no other sound than Miral’s soft breathing, before his father would give up and leave him alone? Longer than Tom could handle, probably. Owen was the master of it — waiting out his adversary. Since he’d been a boy, Tom had always broken first. Unable to resist his need to fill the silence, he’d babble away until his father got whatever confession he’d wanted. </p><p>“Did you talk to your grief counselor about this?” Owen said, after five-ish silent minutes.</p><p>Huh.<em> I finally fucking out-waited him.</em> Tom wished he could tell B’Elanna. She must have said it a hundred times since <em>Voyager</em> had returned to Earth: that Tom didn’t need to respond to<em> everything</em> his father said to him. That he could just walk away. (“If you would just keep your big mouth shut once in a while, you and your father would get along a lot better.”) </p><p>“Uh, sort of,” Tom finally answered his father. Pravith had told him to look for ways of letting B’Elanna go. Tom had even considered running this idea by him earlier, but he’d decided not to. What was the point? He didn’t need Pravith’s blessing for this. He didn’t even like Pravith. It was Tom’s decision to make; no one else’s. “But today was my last session with him. It wasn’t helping.” Tom braced himself again for another opinion. Another judgment. </p><p>“Son…” </p><p>It always pissed Tom off when his father called him that. Like he didn’t even deserve his own name. Like the only reason he was important was because of his relationship to Owen.</p><p>“This is difficult for me, but it needs to be said,” Owen continued. “I’ve been doing a of thinking lately. Seeing my own counselor, actually.”</p><p>Tom put down the sweater in his hands and looked up at this father. Admiral Owen Paris, voluntarily getting therapy? This was new. “You have?”</p><p>Owen nodded. “And it’s helped me realize some things. I’d like to sit down with you at some point. Have a real conversation when we don’t have to keep our voices down.” He paused a moment to stroke Miral’s soft curls. “But for now, let me say this. I’m sorry, if the things your mother and I did after B’Elanna’s death weren’t helpful. We weren’t trying to do anything but make it easier for you, Tom. But I understand if you didn’t see it like that. I’m a Starfleet Admiral; I see a problem and I want to take action to fix it. But some things, especially this thing, can’t be fixed that way. So again, I’m sorry. And I’ll try to do better. To listen to what you need instead of assuming I know.” </p><p>Tom quickly turned back to the sweater and the box. Not because his own eyes were threatening tears — that happened a billion times a day now — but because his father’s were. That was something he wasn’t used to and wasn’t ready to deal with. “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate that.” </p><p>Owen cleared his throat. “On that note, how can I—”</p><p>Miral awoke with wail. “Damn,” Tom muttered as he rose to standing. “I knew I should have woken her up before now. She gets cranky if she sleeps too much in the afternoon.” </p><p>Owen bent to pick her up, then glanced at Tom. “Do you mind?”</p><p>Tom shook his head, still perplexed by this new, deferential Owen.</p><p>“My poor little granddaughter,” Owen murmured as she cried into his shoulder. “Poor Miral. Let’s go find a book for you. Let’s go chase those crabbies away.” </p><p>Owen left the room with Miral clinging to his shoulder, leaving Tom alone again with his task. But not ten minutes passed before the pair made a reappearance, Miral still red-faced and whiny. “She wanted to read in here,” Owen explained. “Wanted Daddy to hear the book, too.”</p><p>Tom smiled at his daughter. “Thanks, kiddo. It’s been a long time since Grandpa read me a story.”</p><p>“‘Guess How Much I Love You,’” Owen read. “‘Little Nutbrown Hare, who was going to bed, held onto Big Nutbrown Hare’s very long ears.’”</p><p>Owen went through the whole thing twice, even reading some pages a third time at Miral’s request, until the little girl was placated and slipped off her grandfather’s lap. “Get bunny!” she yelled, running back to her room for her own brown plush rabbit. </p><p>“You’re good with her,” Tom said, feeling, perhaps, like he owed his dad some grace, too. “Not everyone knows how to handle her bad moods. I don’t know, maybe because she’s a quarter-Klingon, they think they need to take a firm hand or something.”</p><p>Owen frowned. “Are you having issues with her nanny?”</p><p>“Haria?” Tom said. “No, not at all. They’re great. I just meant… people. No one specific.”</p><p>Miral charged back into the room, whacking Owen’s legs with her rabbit. “Bunny on da slide, Gampa! Bunny on da slide!”</p><p>Once Tom gave the OK, Owen agreed to take Miral and her bunny to the playground for a little while. “This way you can finish up,” Owen said, waving at the boxes.<br/>Tom went downstairs with them to help Miral with her coat and shoes — she wouldn’t let just anyone put them on. As he fastened the bright green sneakers around her tiny feet, Owen invited them over for dinner the following night. “Nothing formal,” he said. “Just us and your sisters. Moira is busy on Sunday, so we thought we’d do a Saturday dinner instead.” </p><p>Tom definitely couldn’t change the dinner plans he already had. God only knows how Kathryn would take it if he canceled last minute — he and Miral would probably never see her again. But he found he was a little reluctant to tell his father who they were with. “Sorry,” he said, hoping this would be the end of it. “We’ve already got plans for tomorrow.”</p><p>“With Katie Janeway?”</p><p>Damn, damn, damn. “Uh, yeah, actually,” Tom said, because it was a ridiculous thing to lie about. She was his former captain; Owen’s old protegee. They had nothing to hide. Except that kiss two days ago. Which was just a weird fluke occurrence and was definitely never happening again.</p><p>“She’s been spending a lot of time here, hasn’t she?”</p><p>“Yup.” Tom straightened and stared at the pair of lavender slippers on the floor that were clearly too small to even fit over his toes. Owen had always been far too observant for Tom’s good. “She’s been a lot of help.”</p><p>Owen watched him several seconds longer than was comfortable, then nodded. “Good. She’s a good person. I’m glad she’s helping.” He smiled at Miral. “Are you all ready to go, granddaughter?”</p><p>“All ready, Gampa!” </p><p>Owen opened the door, then stopped. “Tom? What I said earlier, about being sorry?”</p><p>Tom might never recover from the high-tension tennis game this visit had been. “Yeah?”</p><p>“What I meant to say, what I should have said, was this: the biggest thing we’re sorry about is if we made you feel like we didn’t trust your parenting.” Owen was staring at him again; Tom tried not to squirm too obviously. “You’re a very good father to Miral, Tom. You’re kind, you’re patient with her, and she’s growing into a wonderful person.”</p><p>Was the old man trying to get him to openly weep? “Thanks, Dad.”</p><p>He wasn’t done. “I just want to make sure you know to trust your instincts. They’re very good ones. Don’t let anyone make you doubt them. Not even me.”</p><p>Owen really need to leave so Tom could curl up in a ball and cry for a minute or twenty. “OK,” he managed. </p><p>Miral was dragging her grandfather out the door now — good kid, that daughter of his — but, as he half-stumbled down the steps, Owen had one last thing to say. “I love you right up to the moon, Tom.”</p><p>“And back, Gampa!” Miral added. “Go to slide now!” </p><p>Owen laughed and followed his granddaughter onto the sidewalk. Tom stayed in the doorway to watch them — the father whose love he’d always questioned, hand in hand with the daughter whom he hoped would never have cause to do the same. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kathryn flipped the page of her book, then immediately flipped it back again. She hadn’t absorbed a damn word. </p><p>She was too busy thinking about Tom.</p><p>He hadn’t reached out since Wednesday night, when she’d stupidly kissed him in the middle of her kitchen. She wasn’t sure if it was because he was panicking, concerned she was panicking, or some combination, but she’d been grateful for the head space. </p><p>Which would end tonight, as she was going to his house for dinner. But she’d made her decision. She would eat, she would give Miral her bath, and she would stick to the plan. Not completely give up on their friendship — Tom was right; that would be an extreme reaction. But she would stop staying overnight, stop having so many dinners and lunches with him. She’d do it in gradations, see them a little less each week, to make to easier on Miral. And next time an opportunity came up for her to go off-world, she’d grab it with both hands.</p><p>She’d just returned to her book with a new sense of resolve, when her door buzzer rang. It couldn’t be Tom — he’d told her beef bourguignon took all day to cook — and Kathryn wasn’t sure she’d ever had anyone else visit. </p><p>It was Owen.</p><p>Five minutes after she buzzed him entry, he arrived at her door with a serious, yet apprehensive expression on his face. </p><p>“Owen?” She waved him into her living room. “What’s wrong? Why are you here on a Saturday?”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Katie,” he said. “I wouldn’t bother you at home if it weren’t important, but… it’s about Tom.”</p><p>Kathryn’s breath caught in her throat. Her whole body shivered; her vision went grey. How could something have happened to him? How was that fair, after B’Elanna? “What…” she whispered, barely able to hear the words over her pounding heart and the roar in her ears, “What happened? Is Miral…?”</p><p>“Katie!” Owen’s hands gripped her upper arms. “Katie, he’s fine. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. They’re fine. Him and Miral both.”</p><p>She sank into the closest chair, her face burning red. “I’m sorry. How embarrassing. It’s only that, after B’Elanna, my head just immediately went to—”</p><p>“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”</p><p>Kathryn looked up at her old mentor in shock. “What?” </p><p>Owen turned away from her, shaking his head. “I knew something was off between the two of you, but I didn’t think it would be this.” </p><p>Tom would have never told his father about the kiss — Kathryn dismissed that idea before it was even complete in her mind — but clearly the man had seen or heard something. “Owen, explain yourself. What would make you say such a thing?”</p><p>He faced her again, his expression stern and distant. “Whenever we see him, he mentions you. Aside from Miral, you’re often the only person he mentions. I know how often you have lunch together. Dinner, too, I gather. Then yesterday, after he declined plans with his family because of ones with you, I saw your slippers. Why are your slippers at his house, Katie?”</p><p>Kathryn stood. Owen was nearly as tall as Tom — it wasn’t like she could intimidate him with her relatively diminutive height — but this was feeling more and more like an interrogation, and she wasn’t about to take it sitting in an armchair. “They’re just slippers, Owen. There’s nothing untoward going on. Miral likes me to give her a bath. Tom sometimes needs help getting her ready in the morning. Staying over is the easiest way to do that.”</p><p>“Do you know,” Owen said, “I blamed it on Tom? I thought perhaps he’d become too dependent on you. Maybe displaced his feelings for B’Elanna.”</p><p>“Blamed what on Tom?” Kathryn threw her hands in the air. “I’m helping him with his daughter!”</p><p>But as Kathryn went hot, Owen went cold. “I didn’t want to ask him; I have to be careful with him still. I thought coming to you would be better. Little did I know it’s your feelings that are the real problem.”</p><p>She had to be careful herself. Owen was upset, perhaps understandably so. But he couldn’t possibly understand how Kathryn felt about Tom. She didn’t even understand it! But, either way, she’d known the man a long time. Staying calm and rational was the way to get through to him. “I’m glad you did come to me,” she said. “I have been spending a lot of time there, but it’s quite a leap to go from that to—”</p><p>“Your face, Katie,” he barked. “I saw your face when you thought something had happened to him.”</p><p>Oh, for god’s sake. “Because he’s a friend, Owen! One I feel particularly responsible for. Of course I was upset!”</p><p>Owen was unmoved. “That was not the face of a captain worried about their crew member.”</p><p>Kathryn had new appreciation for Tom’s difficult relationship with his father. Yes, she had kissed Tom, but it had been a spur of the moment thing. An impulse she now had firmly under control. And Owen didn’t even know about it! The absolute gall of the man and his assumptions. “You’re out of line, Owen. You can’t possibly know my exact feelings for Tom based on a simple facial—” </p><p>“I don’t particularly care what your specific feelings are,” he said. “Only for how they impact my son. Do you know what he was doing yesterday? Packing up B’Elanna’s things. All of them, Katie. Her clothes, her photographs. He’s wiped the house of her.” </p><p>She took a breath. Owen was worried, and he was taking it out on her. He’d said it himself — he couldn’t talk to Tom like this at the moment. Their relationship would be ruined beyond repair. So Kathryn was getting it instead, which she could handle. Better Owen play the domineering tyrant with her than isolate Tom even more from his family. “Owen, I understand your concern. But I promise you — my only intentions towards Tom are to help him with his grief and to move onto with his life. I swear it. There’s nothing I want less than to hurt Tom and Miral.”</p><p>Owen’s face remained stone for another moment, then he turned away with a sigh. “I realize that. And I’m sorry for raising my voice to you. That was inexcusable. But it’s also beside the point. Whether I’m right or wrong about your feelings for Tom, I know I’m right about this: Tom has not properly dealt with B’Elanna’s death. He’s hiding from it. Aside from cleaning out the house, he’s also fired his therapist. He barely talks to me or his mother and sisters. From what I gather, he’s not really talking to anyone — except for you.”</p><p>“And as I said, I’m only trying to help him.”</p><p>He wandered towards the window that overlooked the southeast corner of the ‘Fleet campus. “Every marriage is special, of course, but Tom and B’Elanna… From the first time we saw them together, Julia and I saw the difference. You don’t know what he used to be like, Katie. How troubled he was. But after he came back to us — he was a whole new person. B’Elanna was so good for him, Katie. And you don’t get over the loss of someone like that in three months.”</p><p>Kathryn wanted to scream. She knew Owen loved Tom, and she recognized his unique role as Tom’s father, but to act as if Kathryn were some casual acquaintance who’d just popped back into his son’s life! Of course she knew how good B’Elanna had been for Tom — she’d had a front row seat to their relationship for four years. Further, she also knew something Owen didn’t seem to want to acknowledge — how good Tom had been for B’Elanna. Did the man ever give his son any credit? This conversation needed to end. Now. “Owen, I understand your concern as Tom’s father, but let me be clear—”</p><p>“Let me be clear, Katie,” he said. “I am very grateful for how much you’ve helped my son these few months, but it’s time for you to back off. Having you over for dinner every night, sleeping at the house — it’s holding him back. It’s allowed him to make his life smaller and smaller, and that is the opposite of what he needs.”</p><p>Kathryn teeth ground together. “And you know what that is?”</p><p>“Yes,” Owen said. “I do. He needs to focus on his career, on Miral. He needs to deal with B’Elanna’s death properly. And, most importantly, he needs to expand his support system — not hide from everyone who wants to help him move forward.” He gave her that glare that had terrified back when she’d been a green ensign, first stepping foot on his bridge. “Find yourself a mission — one that takes you off-world. It’s time for you to move forward, too.”</p><p>There were so many things Kathryn could say. How, for example, Kathryn was no longer his science officer and Owen’s glare wasn’t nearly as intimidating as it used to be. How she’d seen up close how much damage Owen’s authoritarian parenting style had done to his son. How the post-<em>Voyager</em> Tom wasn’t even in the same galaxy as the Tom of Caldik Prime or Auckland. But she knew it would all fall on deaf ears. Tom had said it to her many times since B’Elanna’s death, during those long talks over dinner or as they walked with Miral along the waterfront: Owen passed judgments quickly and was hard-pressed to ever reexamine them. Once Owen Paris made up his mind about something, convincing him to change it was about as easy as convincing a Borg not to assimilate you. “I’ll certainly take that under advisement, Owen.”</p><p>He stared at her. “You’re angry with me.”</p><p>“Damn right I am.”</p><p>Owen snorted, for a fraction of second reminding Kathryn of his son. “I can live with that, if it means protecting my son. Don’t cancel dinner tonight; Tom will worry something’s wrong. And I’ll ask around — see what missions might be a good fit for you.”</p><p>“Don’t bother.” She opened the door and gestured for him to leave. “And, Owen?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“No one calls me Katie anymore.” Kathryn shut the door, cursing the hydraulics that prevented her from slamming it.</p><hr/><p>“Ant Rin!” Miral gave her a toothy smile in greeting.</p><p>“Are you supposed to be opening the front door, young lady?” Kathryn asked.</p><p>“I saw you on the door cam!” Tom called from the kitchen. “I told her to let you in.” </p><p>The little girl ran off with a high-pitched screech, setting Kathryn’s teeth on edge. Despite Owen’s directive, despite knowing Tom would worry if she hadn’t shown, she really should have canceled dinner. Rather than abating, her anger at Owen Paris’ presumption and interference had festered and grown all afternoon, until now it was nearly a living thing trying to claw its way out of her chest. </p><p>The worst was that she knew he had a point. She’d thought all the same things herself, only a few minutes before he’d appeared and ruined her Saturday. Tom was probably too dependent on her for emotional support; he did need to expand his social circle beyond Kathryn, Miral, and the nanny. But she also knew that, under the often forced grin and corny jokes, he was still struggling. That what progress he’d made was fragile and might shatter at the slightest trauma. And that was the irony of Owen’s visit — he’d come to convince her to leave Tom alone, but left her worried that if she did, no one would be there to support him when he stumbled.</p><p>“Hey,” Tom said as she entered the kitchen. He frowned at her before turning his attention back to the stove. “Everything OK?”</p><p>“Fine,” she said, dropping into a chair. “Dinner smells wonderful.” A glass of red wine appeared in front of her a moment later. </p><p>Tom smiled at her, gesturing with the bottle before returning to his cooking. “I got it for the stew, but I think you might need it more.”</p><p>Kathryn took a sip, humming a little with pleasure. It was a very good wine. But… “This isn’t synthehol.”</p><p>Tom snorted. “Of course not. I may have learned how to make this from my Irish nanny, but if I used fake wine in beef bourguignon I’m sure some long dead French ancestor would come back to haunt me.”  </p><p>Kathryn glanced around the kitchen; no other glasses were in sight. “You’re not having any?”</p><p>Tom shook his head. “Nah. I don’t like to drink the real stuff when I’m in a bad place. Trust me, it doesn’t end well.”</p><p>Kathryn watched his back for a moment, but his shoulders were relaxed, his voice had been casual. “You’re still in a bad place?”</p><p>He turned to give her a quick smile. “I guess not really. But I feel better playing it safe. I’m all Miral has now, you know? I don’t have any room to screw things up.”</p><p>She thought about what Owen had said — how Tom had cleared the house of B’Elanna’s things. She’d seen it herself as she’d walked from the front door to the kitchen. The bat’leth was gone from where it had been mounted above the front window; there were gaps on the wall where photos has been removed. But was it really Tom not dealing with things? Or was it him trying to find a concrete way to move on? “You know I’m always here for you to talk to, right? Anytime.”</p><p>Tom’s expression was amused. “Kathryn, I’ve jawed your ear off no less than a hundred times in the past three months. I think I know I can talk to you.” </p><p>“Yes, but—”</p><p>“To be completely honest?” Tom interjected. “I’m sick to death of talking about it. About how sad I am. About how much I miss her. About all the things we had planned that we’ll never get to do. I need a break. I want to talk about, think about literally anything else. I can’t be ‘the guy whose wife died’ for the rest of my life.”</p><p>“It’s only been three months.”</p><p>“Which is how much time I needed, I guess. More wine?” he asked, topping off her glass before she could answer.</p><p>“Trying to get me drunk, Lieutenant?” she remarked, but Tom only smiled.</p><p>And that was exactly the problem with Tom Paris — the man could be damn hard to read sometimes. It was entirely possible he was just being a good host. He was far more observant than most people gave him credit for — maybe he’d simply seen how stressed Kathryn was and wanted to help her relax. On the other hand, it might be a distraction technique. Not ten days ago she’d overheard him crying in his bedroom when she’d gotten up for water; was it really possible he’d turned the corner towards acceptance overnight?</p><p>Then Kathryn noted the hand that held the wine bottle. “Your ring.You took it off.”</p><p>Tom glanced at his hand as if to verify it was no longer there. “Uh, yeah. It felt like it was time. Crap!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I meant to make bread,” he said. “Totally forgot. You’ll live with replicated?”</p><p>Kathryn stared at him. “You know how to make bread? From scratch?” </p><p>He laughed and got five minutes into relaying an anecdote about when he and his sister learned how to make bread from their grandmother before Kathryn realized how deftly he’d changed the subject.</p><hr/><p>Miral was in a terrible mood. Before Tom had even finished cooking, she’d started hanging on his legs and squalling for attention. “I’m almost done, sweetie,” he said, trying to stir with one hand and keep her away from the hot stove with the other. “Sorry, she didn’t sleep great last night. She’s been whiny all day. Can you—”?</p><p>Which Kathryn was happy to do until Miral screamed, “No, Ant Rin!” and smacked her in the cheek.</p><p>“Miral!” she said, more shocked than injured. “That’s very bad! Good girls don’t—”</p><p>“Whoops!” Tom said, scooping her up. “OK, how about you stir, and I’ll deal with this one.” </p><p>Kathryn had been a bit taken aback, but even she was capable of stirring a nearly-done beef bourguignon, so she’d just raised her eyebrows and took the spoon.</p><p>But even after she was strapped into her highchair and they’d started dinner, Miral wouldn’t let either Kathryn or Tom finish a sentence without yelling, or throwing food, or otherwise demanding Tom’s total focus. Kathryn had planned to take the time to explain why she was going to stop staying over, or maybe talk about that ill-considered kiss, or just generally dig into how Tom was really doing and if he’d put away B’Elanna’s belongings for the right reason, but Miral was having none of it. </p><p>Then Tom topped off her wine glass again. “Stop,” she said, a bit alarmed at how many times she had to blink to bring him into focus. “I’m not used to drinking real alcohol.”</p><p>He shrugged. “Dump it if you want. I just had to finish the bottle.” </p><p>“No, Daddy! No talking!”</p><p>Kathryn frowned and started to scold the child, but Tom only smiled and rolled his eyes before pulling his daughter into his lap. </p><p>The result of all this being that Kathryn had been at Tom’s house for over two hours and the equivalent of three glasses of wine, and still had yet to say a single meaningful thing to him. Resolved to settle things before she left, Kathryn replicated herself a detox hypo so she could give Miral her bath and hustle her off to bed, but the little girl continued to cling to her father. “You’re being awfully indulgent with her tonight,” Kathryn said, damp from the Miral’s splashing and irritated the evening had been so derailed. </p><p>“Father’s prerogative,” he said before murmuring comforts into his sulky child’s ear and he gently dried her off with a towel. “We all have bad days. Let me go put her to bed. I’ll be done in ten.”</p><p>Make that twenty, then thirty. Kathryn, ensconced on the big, soft couch by the TV, could hear Miral crying in protest every time Tom tried to leave, then would hear Tom would go right back in her room again. Clearly they were not having their much needed conversation tonight. She should just go up to the guest room, pack up the few things she’d left up there, and leave him a note saying they’d talk another time. (Maybe when Miral was next with Haria). But she hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and the guest room felt very far away, and Tom’s couch was so much more comfortable than her own.</p><p>“How do you plead, Captain?”</p><p>She was in <em>Voyager</em>’s briefing room. Except she wasn’t. San Francisco was outside the window and, in her regular seat, sat Owen Paris, dressed in an antique judge’s robes. “Plead? What do you mean, Owen?”</p><p>“Fraternizing with your subordinates, Katie. Hardly becoming for a Starfleet officer.”</p><p>“It was one kiss! It was a mistake!”</p><p>“Were we a mistake, too, Kathryn?”</p><p>“Chakotay? No! But I was the captain. I wished things could have been different; I wanted things to be different.”</p><p>He slung his arm around Seven of Nine’s shoulders, giving her a sloppy kiss on the neck. “Me, too.”</p><p>“How do you plead, Captain?”</p><p>“Owen, you don’t understand!” </p><p>But it wasn’t Owen anymore. It was Tuvok with a face full of rage. </p><p>“How do you plead, Captain?”</p><p>And it was Harry, old and grey, with an ensign’s pip on his collar.</p><p>“How do you plead, Captain?”</p><p>And it was B’Elanna, burnt and dead-eyed. “He’s a good kisser, isn’t he?” she added. “I taught him that.”</p><p>“Kathryn?”</p><p>And it was Tom. And he was…</p><p>“Kathryn! Wake up!”</p><p>She jerked her head off the back of the couch with a gasp. Tom was next to her, his hand on her shoulder. He smiled but his eyes were worried. “One hell of a dream, huh?”</p><p>Kathryn tried to rise, but her leg had been under her and had fallen asleep. “Damn it!” she said when it hit the floor and a burst of needle sharp pain shot all the way up to her hip. </p><p>“Hey, hey,” Tom said, gently pushing her back against the couch. “Take it easy. Sit for a minute. Take a breath.” He angled himself across the cushions, then bent to put her leg in his lap, massage her calf up and down. </p><p>She couldn’t take this right now. She couldn’t handle him being kind, or caring. Not after the kiss she couldn’t stop thinking about, not after the terrible talk with Owen, not after their frustrating night or that awful, awful dream. She had to get away. “Tom,” she choked. “Please. I have to go.”</p><p>He let go of her calf, but only to reach forward to stroke her cheek. “You have to lower your shields, Kathryn” he said. “Stand down from red alert. You’ve been on edge all night. What’s going on? What was that dream about?”</p><p>Absolutely no way was Kathryn going to tell him about her nightmare — a variant of which had plagued her so many nights since <em>Voyager</em> had come home. “It’s nothing,” she said, horrified she could no longer stop her tears. “I’m fine.”</p><p>“Will you let me help you?” He supported her arm as she rose, but, once she was up on her own two feet, he didn’t let go. “I don’t mind. I want to, actually. It’s the only fair thing, after everything you’ve done for me. Just talk to me. Stop being so damn strong all the time.” </p><p>“I can’t,” she said, but instead of moving away from him, she stepped closer. “I don’t know how else to be.”</p><p>He wrapped his long arms around her shoulders and pressed her close to his chest. “You’re not the captain anymore,” he said, kissing her hair. “Not here, not now, and not with me. Come on. Let me in.”</p><p>Kathryn lifted her head off his chest, locking her eyes with his. “I’ve gotten used to going it alone.”</p><p>He smiled and stroked her cheek. “You’ll get unused to it.” His mouth came a fraction closer. “You just need some practice.”</p><p>“Tom…” and his mouth came a little closer.</p><p>“Kathryn.” </p><p>“I like how you say my name.”</p><p>“I like saying it,” he said, and grinned. That damn, cheeky grin that Kathryn never had been very good at resisting. </p><p>She was tired of trying to. “I want you to kiss me.”</p><p>His eyes dilated, black swallowing up blue. “A kiss? That’s it?” He pressed his lips against hers, teasing his tongue along the edge of her mouth, before easing back. “That’s all you want?”</p><p>“No,” Kathryn murmured, not listening to the tiny, distant voice telling her this was wrong. “I want all of it. I want you.”</p><p>He flashed another grin before leaning back into her. “Yes, ma’am.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I feel like I should apologize for the lack of smut in this fic. I am not a smut writer. I have tried, I showed it to a excellent smut-writing friend, and she described it as "sweet." Uh, which is not exactly what people read smut for. So, y'all are going to have to use your imaginoscopes here.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Want go upstairs, Daddy.” Miral tugged on Tom’s hand, letting her whole weight fall to the tile floor.</p><p>He stayed planted in his chair at the kitchen table. “You can’t, sweetie. Aunt Kathryn is still sleeping. We don’t want to wake her up.”</p><p>Miral gave him some serious side eye at this response, which was fair given Tom had never worried too much about Kathryn being disturbed the dozens of other times she’d stayed over. But then, he hadn’t had sex on the couch with her those dozens of other times, so things were a little different this morning. </p><p>“Listen,” he told his daughter. “Let’s go watch a cartoon on the television, and, by the time it’s over, Auntie Moira will be here and take you to play with your cousins.” </p><p>Miral stopped tugging. “Caillou?”</p><p>Tom sighed and slumped but he really needed to keep Kathryn upstairs and asleep until his daughter was out of the house so they could have a real conversation. “Sure, kiddo. Caillou.”</p><p>Which was definitely the worst cartoon in all of Earth’s history. If he didn’t already have a grudge against Neelix for the metric ton of leola root he’d made Tom eat over the years, this certainly would have started one. How the Talaxian had managed to find, download, and send Miral ninety-six whiny episodes all the way from the Delta Quadrant, Tom would never know and never ask, for fear Neelix would find something even worse to send next time. It was a testament to how little he wanted to talk to Kathryn about last night’s festivities that he was agreeing to this. </p><p>His agonized fretting only increased when Miral launched herself onto the couch, jamming her little face into the exact same spot he’d done some unspeakable acts to his former CO, but at least Moira arrived before a second episode of Caillou could start. Tom didn’t think he could take that damn theme song again. </p><p>“Tee Ra!” Miral cried, scrambling off the couch when Moira entered. </p><p>“Hi, honey!” Moira replied, giving the little girl a hug. She stood and glared at the television. “Tom, I will never forgive you for showing Enoch that show.” </p><p>“Sorry,” he said, grabbing a bag and herding both Moira and Miral towards the door. “I’m the worst. And you’re the best. I just need a few hours; I’ll get by noon at the latest. Here’s a bag with her favorites — some snacks, her bunny, her blanket, the right sippy cup.”</p><p>“It’s fine, Tom,” she said, but she was already suspicious and peering over his shoulder. “But are you OK? You seem a little—”</p><p>“Busy!” Tom said. “Really, really busy. With grading, and… grading. So hard to get anything done with this one around! Again, in your debt! Best sister, hands down!”</p><p>“Don’t ever let Kath hear you say that; she’d probably— Hey!” Moira tripped over the lip the door and stumbled onto the landing. “Be careful!”</p><p>But Tom had already thrown Miral’s bag over his sister’s shoulder, scooped up his daughter, and deposited her in Moira’s arms. “Bye, kiddo! Be good for your Auntie Moira!” Then he slammed the door on his daughter blowing kisses and his sister staring daggers. </p><p>One thing done. </p><p>Next, was replicate coffee. A little java made any conversation with Kathryn Janeway better, right? </p><p>Tom scrubbed at his face. God. He wasn’t sure even coffee could save this one.</p><p>What the hell had he been thinking last night? (“I know what you were thinking <em>with</em>,” B’Elanna would have said.) The plan had been to have a nice dinner, for Tom to express his gratitude to Kathryn — again — for everything she’d done for him, and to also express that while their friendship was of paramount importance to him, no more kissing could happen. His feelings were such a weird mishmash these days — he barely could identify them one moment to the next — and the last thing he needed was to complicate one of the few good relationships in his life with kissing.</p><p>Good thing he’d complicated it by screwing her on the couch instead.</p><p>Maybe he should make Kathryn some breakfast, too.</p><p>But the thing was, Tom considered as he measured out the flour, beat the eggs, and sliced up the bananas, it had been nice. Yes, hot, and orgasmic, and a little debauched like all good sex should be, but also: not about B’Elanna. He’d been afraid until last night, that the first time he had sex with someone that wasn’t her it would be awful — that he wouldn’t be able to get her out of his head. That he’d only remember what she liked and forget how to do anything else, or he’d call out her name, or maybe he’d just start to cry and it would be the most humiliating, terrible thing.</p><p>But it hadn’t been like that at all. It had only been about Kathryn, and learning her body, how she liked it touched, the shy noises of pleasure she’d made that had both surprised and delighted him. He hadn’t thought of B’Elanna once. </p><p>Which gave him both a terrible sense of guilt, but also relief. Maybe he wouldn’t always feel like a part of himself was missing. Maybe it wouldn’t always feel like B’Elanna’s death had left such a massive defect in the fabric of his life that he’d never be able to join the pieces together, that he’d eventually lose himself and maybe Miral, too, in an unyielding sorrow. </p><p>Maybe, someday, he could be OK again. </p><p>Maybe he could be OK with Kathryn.</p><p>It’s not like B’Elanna would have wanted him to mourn forever. People had always focused on her temper and her passion, but at heart — his wife had been a pragmatist. (“How long are you going to mope around the house, Flyboy? Do you think that’s doing Miral any good? Do you think it’s doing<em> you</em> any good?”)<br/>On the other hand… (“Barely three months and you replace me with Kathryn fucking <em>Janeway</em>? Are you insane, Tom?”)</p><p>Tom groaned. This was getting him nowhere. “Why can’t you just shut up already!?”</p><p>“Good morning to you, too.”</p><p>He turned to see Kathryn in her bathrobe with her hair down. She’d grown it out since they’d been home, but she usually wore it up. Not quite the Bun of Power of the early Voyager years, but definitely a Hairstyle of Authority. This morning, though, it lay softly around her shoulders in auburn waves that Tom wanted to run his hands through like he wanted to keep breathing. “Sorry,” he murmured. “That wasn’t aimed at you.”</p><p>She frowned and looked around the kitchen. “Miral…?”</p><p>Tom shook the more lustful thoughts from head. “No! I would never— God, no. I was just… She’s with my sister. I thought we should talk.”</p><p>Kathryn’s shoulders dropped; she nodded back at him. “Probably a good idea.” She took a seat at the kitchen table. “I’m sorry. I should have never—”</p><p>“Were you drunk?” Tom blurted out. “When we… I gave you all that wine. Did I get you drunk?”</p><p>“No.” She blinked back at him. “Well, yes, but not when we… I took a detox hypo, remember?”</p><p>“Yeah, but…” Tom turned back to his bananas. “They aren’t infallible and I didn’t want you to think… So you weren’t drunk.”</p><p>“No. It wasn’t the wine.”</p><p>He turned to face her again, chewing on his lip. “Did you feel otherwise coerced?”</p><p>“Tom.”</p><p>“Was it pity? Did you sleep with me because you felt bad?” This one seemed particularly important.</p><p>“No. Definitely not that.” </p><p>Tom sat across from her. OK, then. Not pity. Not the wine. She slept with him because she’d wanted to. Which was good, right? Tom was pretty sure that was a good thing. “I’m not sure what we do now.”</p><p>“Well,” she said, reaching across the table to take his hand. “I think we tell each other what we both want, and we go from there.” </p><p>He should let her go first. Then he’d know where she stood, where they stood, and he could adjust his answer accordingly. That was the smart call. That’s what a good strategist would do. Like his father. Or Kathryn, for that matter. Oh, fuck it. “I want you.” </p><p>“You want me?”</p><p>Tom nodded, wrapping his free hand around hers. “Yeah. Because you made me feel good again, and I want to feel good again. I want to feel like a whole person, and last night, for a few beautiful, perfect moments, I did.”</p><p>Her mouth quirked. “I’d say more than few moments.”</p><p>Tom laughed. “Yes. This. I want this. To laugh with you. To talk with you. To make you breakfast.”</p><p>“And coffee?”</p><p>“Definitely. As soon as we’re done here. So… that means it’s your turn.”</p><p>She smiled at him. Not the coy one. Not the knowing smirk. The good one. The great one. The one that showed her teeth, and crinkled the corner of her eyes, and lit up her whole face like a Christmas tree. “Then I suppose I should tell you, Tom, that I want all that, too.” </p><p>He whooped. He actually stood up from his chair, pumped a fist in the air, and whooped, like he was still sixteen and cheering for his high school’s basketball team. Tom dropped back into his chair. “Oh wow,” he said. “That was embarrassing.”</p><p>“I appreciate your enthusiasm.” </p><p>“Yeah.” Tom got up and went to the replicator for coffee. “I kinda got that impression from you last night, too.”</p><p>“Cocky bastard,” she said, and he loved hearing the laughter in her voice.</p><p>He winked as he poured her a cup, left it black as he knew she liked it, and thought: this was going to be OK. They’d take things slow. They’d keep things quiet, too, until their future was a little clearer. But they would give each other a chance. Yeah. This was good. This was great. Smiling, he went back to his bananas. </p><p>Bananas. </p><p>“So what’s on the menu this morning?”</p><p>It had been automatic. He hadn’t even thought about it. If he made pancakes, he also caramelized some bananas in butter and brown sugar. Not for himself, he preferred blueberries. And Miral would only eat them plain.</p><p>“Tom? What are you making?”</p><p>“Uh…” He stared at the pale yellow disks on the cutting board. “Pancakes.”</p><p>“Are those bananas?”</p><p>“Yeah. Do you like them?”</p><p>“Not particularly. My mother always sauteed apples in butter. Cinnamon, a little nutmeg. But I can eat bananas if that’s what you’re making.”</p><p>“Nah,” Tom said, bringing the cutting board to the ‘fresher and scraping the bananas onto the tray. “We’ll do it your way. Whatever you want.”</p><p><br/> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Admiral Maguire met her in the lobby of building C. “I’ve just finished your report on your meeting with the Andorians. Nice work.”</p><p><em>All I did was parrot back what you told me to say</em>, Kathryn thought. <em>Of course you think it was “nice work.”</em> But actually saying that would no doubt start a discussion, which would only lead to Maguire getting more supercilious, Kathryn getting more frustrated, and her return home being delayed even further. And, after five days in the dry and frigid climes of Andoria, all Kathryn wanted was to be home. So she left it at a terse: “Thank you, Honoria.”</p><p>“You’re going to your office?” Maguire asked. “I want to chat with you about a presser I’ve set up for the day after tomorrow for you.”</p><p>“I was just going to drop a few things off then head home,” Kathryn said. “I’ve been off-world for ten days and the beds on the <em>Mistral</em> are long due for an upgrade.”</p><p>“It’ll only take a few minutes,” Maguire said. “But this has all come up since you left. If you don’t spend tomorrow prepping, you’ll look bad. And if you look bad—”</p><p>“The Fleet looks bad,” Kathryn said dully. Of course, Maguire would dump this on her now, essentially ruining her first day off in nearly two weeks, rather than brief her over subspace on the way home, or just doing the damn conference herself. What was Kathryn still doing here? She was so far removed from what Starfleet used to represent to her, that she might as well still be stuck in the Delta Quadrant. </p><p>But then she thought of Harry, who was finally getting a transfer to a ship that would allow him to see his parents a few times a year. Sam Wildman, who’d nearly ended up on a six-month tour away from Gres and Naomi until Kathryn had lobbied on her behalf. Rollins, Jenny Delaney, Jora, the dozens of other former Voyagers on whose behalf she’d battled and wheedled for better, fairer treatment from HQ. “Whatever you need, Honoria.”</p><p>They boarded the ‘lift. “Why don’t you start now,” Kathryn suggested. “Save us some time.”</p><p>“I’d prefer to wait until we’re in the office. You never know who might—” The ‘lift stopped at eight. “See? This is why we wait.”</p><p>The person who entered was in no way a security risk — he had a higher clearance than Kathryn had — but he certainly made the ride more awkward. “Hello, Owen,” Maguire said in greeting. </p><p>“Honoria.” After a slight pause. “Kathryn.”</p><p>The rest of the ride to seventeen, Kathryn’s floor, was silent. Maguire waited until the ‘lift doors shut before speaking. “What ever did you to do him?”</p><p><em>Started screwing his son?</em> was the first answer that occurred to her, but all that was was proof she probably was spending too much time with Tom, and besides, it wasn’t even accurate. Owen <em>was</em> angry at Kathryn -- but because she hadn’t done as he’d asked and pulled back from her relationship with Tom. What he didn’t know, because both she had decided and Tom had agreed it wasn’t time to tell him, was that she had done the exact opposite. </p><p>But Maguire still needed an answer, so Kathryn resorted to the one that was a long held tradition amongst the Starfleet admiralty when it came to petty in-house disputes. “I’m sure I have no idea.” </p><p>Which would lead to the other long-held tradition of whispered conversations and back-room speculation, but Kathryn knew it would come to nothing. Owen was an incredibly private person, and a respected one, too. He hadn’t been spared after Caldik Prime — no one would have been — but Kathryn had never heard even a hint of any other gossip about the man. Owen wouldn’t share his concerns about Tom and Kathryn with anyone beyond his wife, and it’s not like Kathryn was going to start talking.</p><p>Maguire gave her a look to say she didn’t believe Kathryn and she’d find out sooner rather than later, but said nothing else. The “few minutes” she promised was more like forty-five, but finally, at almost five PM, Kathryn was finally free. She’d just loaded her shoulder bag with the three PADDs Maguire had given her (because god forbid she consolidate them all into one. What a pain in the ass that woman was.) when her desktop comm chimed. Kathryn fiddled with the strap on her bag — how important could it be — then decided to just take the damn call. If it was Maguire, having forgotten something, she’d only call Kathryn all night she got through.</p><p>It was Harry. “Lieutenant Kim,” she said warmly. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I think you’ll be getting good news on that transfer request soon.”</p><p>Harry gave her a quick smile. “Oh, really? That’s great, Admiral. Thank you. I won’t tell a soul until it’s official, I promise.”</p><p>“I wasn’t worried, Harry.” But his expression wasn’t as happy as she’d expected. “What’s wrong? Why did you call?”</p><p>“I was wondering if you were going to see Tom today.”</p><p>Kathryn blinked. She didn’t think Harry knew anything. There were few crew members closer than Harry and Tom on <em>Voyager</em>, but she knew there’d been something of a polite distance between the two men since B’Elanna’s death. She didn’t think Tom would have said anything to him. “I didn’t have any definitive plans with him.” (Only a small lie — she’d never told Tom exactly what time she’d be home.) “Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Just because of the day. I know things still aren’t great with his family, and I wanted to make sure he had someone he could talk to, you know?”</p><p>Kathryn frowned. What was he talking about? “The day?”</p><p>“It’s their wedding anniversary.”</p><p>Damn. She’d completely forgotten. She’d married them herself, and she hadn’t remembered. It was a bit odd, though, that Tom hadn’t said anything. She’d talked to him yesterday, told him her rough itinerary. And it had been after Miral’s bed time, so it’s not as if her presence had been the issue. She’d have to bring it up once they had a quiet moment. She didn’t want Tom to think he couldn’t talk about B’Elanna to her just because they were… whatever they were.</p><p>“I’ll check in, Harry. Don’t worry,” she assured him before signing off and finally heading home.</p><p>When had she started thinking of Tom’s townhouse like that? Two weeks ago? A month, maybe? Because, while she technically hadn’t moved in with them, that’s what it had become to her — a home. Far more than the one bedroom near the Presidio that now served more as a place to store her belongings. More than even her quarters on <em>Voyager</em>, which had always had a liminal feel, or the little house in Berkeley with its postage stamp yard where she’d lived with Molly in between missions. Maybe the closest thing she’d had to a home since Indiana. </p><p>She’d considered marriage and children before, but it had never been a priority. Now, knowing she’d walk in the door and Tom would swoop in to take her bag and get her a drink, Miral would run to hug her legs and give her a kiss — it scared her to think she’d almost missed out on it.</p><p>There was guilt, too, that she was living the life B’Elanna should have been. But, rationally, Kathryn knew that was silly. B’Elanna’s death had nothing to do with her, and filling in some of the hole her loss had left in Tom and Miral’s life was honoring B’Elanna’s memory, not diminishing it. In fact, maybe it was a good thing that Tom was now with someone who knew B’Elanna, who could share her own stories about her, and tell Miral she knew firsthand how much her mother had loved her.</p><p>Tired from her trip, Kathryn considered comming Transporter Control and getting a direct transport to the front door of the townhouse. That wasn’t too suspicious, was it? Every knew she had regular dinners with her former pilot. But, remembering Owen’s cold glare in the ‘lift, she sighed and only went as far as the Mission’s transporter gate. They’d tell people at some point — but on their own terms, in their own time. Not because of a gossipy transporter chief.</p><p>The short walk felt twice as long as usual, whether because of her sore feet or the anticipation of seeing Tom and Miral after so many days away. She smiled as she punched in the key code.</p><p>And opened the door to chaos.</p><p>“No! No sit!” </p><p>Miral’s face was streaked with tears and her voice was angry, but Tom’s tone and expression were calm. “If you don’t want to sit here calmly, then you can come clean the kitchen with me. Your choice.” </p><p>“No clean, Daddy!”</p><p>“Then you have to sit.”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>The little girl was perched on the bottom step, and, given the way she squirmed and her face was screwed up in anger, it was clear the only reason she was sitting there was Tom’s hands gently pushing her on shoulders. </p><p>“Uh-oh, Miral,” Kathryn said in a sing-song voice, hoping to break the toddler’s mood. Her visions of her first night back on Earth hadn’t really included a tantrum, and the sooner this one was over, the better. “Sounds like someone was a little naughty while I was away.”</p><p>Tom smiled at her, but also gave a quick shake of his head. “Can you go in the kitchen, Kathryn, while Miral and I sort this out?”</p><p>Kathryn was surprised at his dismissal — she’d been gone for ten days — but nodded and complied, walking around the little stand-off. </p><p>“No, Daddy! Want Ant Rin!” she heard Miral screech as she walked past.</p><p>“And you can see Aunt Kathryn as soon as you calm down and help me clean.”</p><p>“No clean!”</p><p>Kathryn shook her head — that clearly wasn’t going well — then passed into the kitchen and saw what the issue was. There was food everywhere. Noodles and green beans on the floor, large splotches of pesto on the cabinets, tipped over milk on the high chair tray. She blew out a short breath, hung her shoulder bag over one of the kitchen chairs, then went for the closet where the cleaning robot was kept. Given he was dealing today being his wedding anniversary and a toddler meltdown, cleaning up seemed like the least she could do.</p><p>“Don’t!”</p><p>Kathryn turned to see Tom walking towards her. “What?”</p><p>“Don’t clean anything,” he said, shutting the closet door. “Miral has to help me.”</p><p>“She’s two, Tom,” Kathryn replied. “How much help do you expect her to be?”</p><p>“That’s not the point,” he said. “She needs to learn consequences. Just… walk around the mess. The chair your bag’s on is clean. I’ll get you something to drink. Gin and tonic? Wine?”</p><p>Kathryn thought a reasonable consequence for a toddler was a firm no and maybe a forced apology, but so be it. Today, of all days, he needed her support and her ear, not for her to give him unasked-for advice. ”Gin and tonic is fine. Synthehol, please!”</p><p>Tom grinned. “Got it.”</p><p>No sooner had he placed the drink in front of her than he froze, turning his ear towards the sitting room. “Miral? Are you playing with your zoom dinger?”</p><p>Kathryn laughed. “Zoom dinger?”</p><p>Tom waved her quiet. “Miral?” He got no answer, but Kathryn could hear it now, too — the tinny notes of cheerful music. “I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Another round of Miral screaming and Tom telling her to choose between sitting and cleaning and he was back. “Sorry,” he said. “I haven’t even done this yet,” he added before bending to kiss her gently on the lips. “I missed that. I missed you.” He sat on the chair next to her. “How was your trip?”</p><p>She would have preferred to ask him how he was doing, given the day, but this was Tom — king of deflection. It was probably better if they had that talk after Miral was in bed anyway. She she told him about her trip. Or, she started to. But, not two minutes into a story about how the Andorian chancellor challenged her to an arm wrestling match just because she’s proven him wrong about the best way to analyze subatomic particles in transmorphic nebulas, she realized Tom wasn’t even looking at her. “Have you heard anything I’ve said?”</p><p>He grimaced. “Yes? Sort of? I’m sorry. I’m just trying to keep an ear out for her. I usually sit with her when this happens, but…” He glanced towards the sitting room again. “I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Kathryn sighed and sipped her drink. </p><p>“OK!” Tom said a minute later. She turned to say something to him, when she saw that a teary Miral was in tow. “Go say hi to Aunt Kathryn, sweetie, and then we’ll clean up.”</p><p>“No,” she said. “No Ant Rin.”</p><p>Kathryn waited for Tom to correct her — it stung a little, to be rejected when she’d been away so long and wasn’t the one who’d been punishing her — but he said nothing aside from: “OK. Then you can just start cleaning.” </p><p>Miral, as she had predicted, wasn’t much help. She picked up a handful of noodles and beans and carried them to the ‘fresher, than moved the milk around on the tray a little while Tom wiped down the cabinets. Kathryn was halfway through her gin and tonic before the worst was picked up, Miral washed her hands, and Tom turned on the cleaning robot for the rest of it. “Whew!” Tom said as he dropped back into his chair, a still-pouty Miral in his lap. “Thank god that’s finally done. They weren’t kidding when they called them the terrible two’s. Anyway, Andoria. Tell me. How was it?”</p><p>“Forget Andoria,” she said, a bit worried at how he’d barely sat still since she’d been home. She’d seen before — how when Tom was at his most distraught, he’d hide it in frantic activity. “I can tell you later. How are you?”</p><p>He shrugged. “Fine. A little tired because of this one, but that’s nothing new.”</p><p>Could Harry have gotten the day wrong? Things got a little confusing, after all, trying to convert between the stardate and the Earth standard calendar. Maybe today wasn’t their anniversary, after all. The last thing she wanted to do was bring up something painful unnecessarily. She’d poke a little first, make sure. “So, there’s nothing bothering you? Nothing particular, I mean.”</p><p>Tom gave her a confused smile. “No. Should there be? Is there anything bothering you?”</p><p>“Of course not,” Kathryn said. “I’m just glad to be home.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Again!” Miral yelled.</p><p>At least it was a happy yell. Kathryn smiled at the little girl and pressed her thumbs and index fingers together for the fifth time. “The itsy, bitsy spider climbed up the water spout!” They were sitting on the floor of Miral’s bedroom together and, while Kathryn’s back was getting stiff and she was sick to death of this damn spider, she was grateful Miral wanted to spend time with her again.</p><p>She’d returned from Andoria over a week ago and it was only today that Miral had finally decided to be friendly again. Kathryn hadn’t been allowed to give her a bath, take her to the playground, or, in a few instances, even speak to her without getting screamed at. “I’m sorry,” Tom had said for the hundredth time last night when Miral clung to his shoulder and wouldn’t even look at Kathryn. “God, I wonder if she’s got abandonment issues or something.”</p><p>Privately, Kathryn thought the toddler was jealous Tom didn’t give her his full attention when Kathryn was around, but she’d kept that to herself. He’d put so much pressure on himself to be the perfect parent to Miral since B’Elanna died — the last thing she wanted to do was express any doubt in his abilities, no matter how much she disagreed with the way he indulged Miral’s whims. </p><p>Besides, she had bigger concerns. It had been a frequent bone of contention between Tom and B’Elanna back on <em>Voyager</em> prior to their marriage — Tom shutting her out. With Kathryn, though, it wasn’t that Tom was obsessed with a new hobby — he didn’t have any time for one, between his now full-time schedule at the Academy and taking care of Miral — but that didn’t mean he was being completely open with her.</p><p>They still talked — once Tom’s worst, most intense grief faded, he’d largely returned to his typical tendency of filling silences with chatter. But it was about Miral, or Kathryn’s work, his work, ‘Fleet gossip. Everything except B’Elanna. Before he and Kathryn had become involved, Tom had talked frequently about her — how much he missed her, things she’d done to make him laugh, the way she’d loved Miral. But, since Kathryn had shared that first night with him on the couch, he’d barely said B’Elanna’s name. Even when Kathryn had finally asked him about his wedding anniversary, he’d claimed to not be sure. “I know the stardate, of course. But I can never remember if that translates to June or July on the Earth calendar and, to be honest, I don’t much feel like doing the math.” And that had been the end of that. </p><p>On the other hand, maybe it was for the best. Maybe, as she’d thought that long ago day when she’d first walked in to find him despondent in the kitchen, his natural resiliency had kicked in. He did seem a lot more like the Tom Paris of <em>Voyager</em> — teasing and smiling. And, if Kathryn were to use the quality of their sex life as a gauge, he was doing just fine. While Kathryn hadn’t been in a serious relationship since their return to the Alpha Quadrant, she hadn’t been shy about (finally) getting her sexual needs met. She’d had some fun, even a few memorable nights here and there, but, compared to Tom, those men had all been fumbling teenagers. There had been a few times in the Delta Quadrant when she’d wondered why the brilliant, temperamental B’Elanna had stuck with the pilot given his sillier and occasionally self-absorbed tendencies. Kathryn felt a little terrible thinking this way, but now she was pretty convinced of the answer.</p><p>“And washed the spider out!” Kathryn finished, praying to any deities within earshot that Miral didn’t ask her to sing it again.</p><p>“Want to see Mommy,” the toddler said instead. </p><p>Kathryn forced herself not to react. She hadn’t heard Miral ask for B’Elanna in weeks and weeks. “Miral, sweetheart, your mommy isn’t here anymore. She died.” </p><p>But the child seemed unconcerned by this news, and simply walked over to her bedside table to tug on the little handle. “No, Ant Rin. See Mommy.”</p><p>Concerned she was going to break it with her pulling, Kathryn helped her open the drawer. “Oh,” she said, smiling at Miral when she was what was inside. “I understand. You want to see pictures of Mommy.” It was an old fashioned vinyl photo album. </p><p>Miral nodded and pulled on Kathryn’s hand until she was sitting cross legged on the floor with the toddler tucked within her legs. They went through the pages together, Miral pointing at B’Elanna’s image and yelling: “Mommy!” each time.</p><p>“Did you know your mommy was the smartest engineer I’ve ever met?” Kathryn murmured into Miral’s ear. “She kept <em>Voyager</em> safe and working until we got all the way from the Delta Quadrant back to Earth. She was also very strong and very brave.”</p><p>“Dat’s Mommy, too.” Miral pointed to a picture of B’Elanna cradling a newborn Miral in sickbay. “And a baby.”</p><p>“Yes, Miral,” Kathryn confirmed, discreetly wiping a tear from her eye. “That’s baby Miral.”</p><p>“Baby me?” Miral said, staring at her with such wide-eyed surprised Kathryn couldn’t help but laugh.</p><p>“Hey,” Tom said as he came into the room. “Who’s having a party without me?”</p><p>“See Mommy, Daddy!” Miral said, waving the album in the air. Kathryn looked up to see his reaction. </p><p>There was nothing. </p><p>He knelt before Miral, smiling, and held a hand out to her. “Let me see that. Yup, that’s Mommy. Why don’t I put this away until bedtime, OK? Let’s look at Pat the Bunny.”</p><p>“Pat da Bunny!” Miral ran to the low bookshelf and began dumping things on the floor to locate her favorite. </p><p>“So? How did it go?” Kathryn said when Tom said nothing but instead tossed the few scattered toys into a basket in the corner. He’d been downstairs on the comm system for the last fifteen minutes, doing a preliminary interview for a test piloting job Kathryn had helped him find. </p><p>“Fine,” he said with a shrug. He sat on the rug with Miral and started to flip through the bunny book with her. “Alvarez seems like a decent enough guy, but I doubt it’ll go anywhere.”</p><p>Kathryn, unsuccessfully, tried to catch his eye. “Why not?” she asked. Howard Alvarez was more than a decent guy; he operated one of the leading ship design firms outside of Starfleet. He was also a personal friend of Kathryn’s, as they’d been Academy classmates — she knew he’d like Tom and Tom would like him. Between that and Ward’s upcoming line of aquatic vessels, she figured this job was right up Tom’s alley.</p><p>Tom shrugged again as he helped Miral smell the flowers with Paul and Judy. “Puerto Vallerta? Pretty far away.”</p><p>“You remember transporters, right?”</p><p>“I hate living in a different time zone from where I work.”</p><p>“It’s one hour.” When Tom said nothing beyond coaching Miral on looking at Judy’s mirror, she tried another tack. “You could consider moving.”</p><p>Tom shook his head. “And take Miral away from Haria? Plus, most of my family’s here.”</p><p>“You don’t like your family.” She how Tom’s jaw clenched and softened her tone. Clearly there was something else going on. “I was only kidding, Tom. It’s just that everything about this job is perfect for you, and it sounds like you’re making excuses.”</p><p>He rolled his eyes, then tilted his lap so Miral slid onto the floor. “Let’s go and get you a snack, kiddo. Kathryn, I appreciate you getting me this opportunity, I do, but it’s not going to work out. Let it go.” He took Miral’s hand and headed downstairs.</p><p>Kathryn followed close behind. “I’ll let it go as soon as you give me a reason that makes sense.”</p><p>“One at a time, remember? You have to be careful,” he said to Miral as they slowly descended. “What can I say? It's not a good fit. I don’t even do that kind of flying anymore.”</p><p><em>Oh</em>, Kathryn thought. <em>That’s what this is.</em> She could hardly believe it. Tom Paris, “the best pilot she could have there,” was worried he was past his prime. Once they were in the kitchen, she went over and put her hand on his shoulder as he chopped grapes for Miral. “Tom, you’re an incredibly talented pilot. The best I’ve ever seen. I’m sure once you got back into it, you’d be more than capable of doing what Ward needs.”</p><p>He looked at her, frowned, opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Uh… thank you.” Back to his grapes. “But it’s all moot anyway. He said he has another solid candidate and so would need to see me fly before leaves for Vulcan on Friday. I can’t cancel my classes last minute like that.”</p><p>“What about tomorrow? Isn’t Tuesday your free day?”</p><p>“It’s also Haria’s day with their other family. My parents are still on Rigel V, Moira’s in the middle of moving, and Kath is never free on short notice. What am I supposed to do with Miral?”</p><p>“I’ll take care of her,” Kathryn said, bringing the small bowl of grapes to Miral’s high chair before helping the little girl in. “I have an easy day tomorrow — I can rearrange things.”</p><p>“Kathryn,” Tom said with such concern she looked up. “He wants to put me through my paces. All of them. I’d be gone at least five or six hours.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“She’s dropped her morning nap for good. She’ll be awake the whole time.”</p><p>Kathryn’s turn to roll her eyes. “Tom, you’re being ridiculous. Call Ward, tell him you’ll be there tomorrow morning. I’ll take Miral to the holozoo in San Diego — I haven’t been since I was a child and you said she loves going. We’ll spend a few hours there, come back and have a nice lunch, and by then, you’ll be home, hopefully with a decision to make.”</p><p>“Zoo!” Miral cheered, spitting grape chunks onto her high chair tray.</p><p>“I don’t know…”</p><p>Kathryn stood and cupped her hands around Tom’s cheeks. “I do. You need to keep moving forward, Tom. I know teaching doesn’t fulfill you like it should, and you can’t live your whole life for your daughter.”</p><p>He smiled down at her, then pressed a lingering kiss against her mouth. “I don’t know that Miral is the only thing I’m living for these days.”</p><p>She put on her sternest fake-glare. “Don’t try to distract me, Mister. Listen, if you meet with Ward and this job isn’t for you, so be it. But you have to try, Tom. I’m not going to let you talk yourself out of something without even giving it a chance.”</p><p>He nodded. “OK. You may have a point there.” He eased back, scratched his head, and looked at Miral. “You think you can handle taking Aunt Kathryn to the zoo, kiddo?”</p><p>“Zoo!” Miral cheered again, banging her now empty bowl on the tray. </p><p>“It’s settled then,” Kathryn said, never as satisfied as when things went according to plan.</p><hr/><p>If only San Diego hadn’t experienced its first tropical cyclone in over two hundred years. The weather shielding protected the city from the worst of it, of course, but, even if walking around in the pouring rain held any appeal, Kathryn wouldn’t have been able to get a transport in. “Sorry, Admiral,” the ‘Fleet’s top transporter engineer told her when she called to see if they could go a bit later than planned, “that system is parked there all day. Besides, the increased ionic interference makes safe transporting a real bear. We have to leave resources open for emergency beam-outs only until at least tomorrow.” </p><p>She’d tried to research other holozoos or museums in neighboring time zones she and Miral could visit, but found it increasingly hard to concentrate with the little girl tugging on her shirt and yelling: “Zoo! Zoo!” over and over again. Finally, when the third place she checked had no available tickets until late afternoon, she gave up. “Miral,” she said, kneeling before the toddler as she’d seen Tom do a hundred times. “It looks like the zoo is closed today. How about we just go the playground? Then we can get ice cream after.”</p><p>Miral squinted back at her. “Zoo?”</p><p>Kathryn smiled. “Playground,” she said, then immediately covered her ears when Miral opened her mouth to emit the loudest, highest-pitched scream Kathryn had ever heard. “Miral!” she shouted over the noise. “Stop that right now!”</p><p>Miral threw her stuffed bunny at her and took off for the kitchen.Why the hell hadn’t Kathryn checked San Diego’s weather forecast before volunteering for this? “Miral! Come back here!”</p><p>She caught up with the angry toddler as she tried to open the back door while yelling: “Going to the zoo!”</p><p>Kathryn put her hands on her hips. “Miral Paris, you need to stop that right now! You are being a very bad girl! Now I’m not taking you anywhere at all!”</p><p>The little girl looked at her, screwed up her face, and started to bawl. Tom hadn’t even been gone a full hour and things were already falling apart. Kathryn knelt again, now feeling terrible for making the child cry. Perhaps she had been too harsh. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. It’s OK. We can go to the playground. Don’t cry.”</p><p>It was like she’d hit a reset button. Miral’s face immediately brightened and, Kathryn now saw, it was completely free of tears. “Go get bunny!” she yelled, before taking off again.</p><p>Kathryn glanced at the old fashioned clock on the wall. At least four hours to go.</p><p>Getting Miral outside didn’t help. They had a nice enough walk to the playground, Kathryn carefully reminding Miral of the rules she’d heard Tom give her on previous visits: remember to share, no hitting, no throwing sand, wait your turn. But within minutes of their arrival, Miral had snatched a truck from the hands of an older human girl, then kicked sand at a Vulcan toddler. “Miral!” Kathryn said, trying to ignore the Vulcan father’s withering judgmental stare. “Don’t you remember the rules?”</p><p>“No!” Miral screamed, before taking off for the slide and knocking over another human child who’d been in her path. There was a brief calm of fifteen minutes before the final storm, when Miral pulled a Betazoid toddler off the stairs to the slide so she could go first, dumping the hapless child in the dirt. “That is the last straw, young lady,” Kathryn said, then grabbed Miral by the arm to haul her off the stairs, cringing an apology to the parent when one of Miral’s kicking feet caught the already crying Betazoid in the head. “We are going home right now,” Kathryn muttered as she struggled to contain the angry half-Klingon toddler in her arms. </p><p>Miral stilled. “Ice cream?”</p><p>That, she remembered. “No, Miral. You have been very bad. Bad girls don’t get ice cream.” The wailing began again, but this time, Kathryn wasn’t falling for it. She walked the entire way home with Miral kicking and screaming over her shoulder. </p><p>She shouldn’t have put her down, but trying to enter the door code with a flailing child over her shoulder was a near impossibility. Of course, the second Miral’s feet his the ground, she took off down the cement stairs towards the sidewalk. </p><p>Kathryn didn’t even get the little girl’s full name out before she tripped on the last one and smacked her face onto the sidewalk. </p><p>“Damn.” Kathryn rushed to her and scooped her into her arms. The crying was real this time, no doubt. “Let me see, Miral,” she said to the little girl as she thrashed and struggled. There was some blood, but Kathryn couldn’t tell where it was coming from. “Miral! Please! Stop and let me look!”</p><p>“No! Let go! No Ant Rin!”</p><p>Passers-by were starting to slow and stare; Kathryn needed to get them off the sidewalk. “Miral, if you let me take you in the house, you can have all the ice cream you want.”</p><p>There were a few more half-hearted kicks, and the whimpering persisted, but finally Miral let Kathryn pick her up properly. “All right,” Kathryn said once they were safe inside and in the bathroom. “Let me take a look and get you cleaned up.”</p><p>“Ice cream?”</p><p>“Right after we’re done. Let me look now.” </p><p>The injury, thankfully, was quite minor — just a scrape on the chin that was quickly regenerated. Kathryn cleaned the tears off the toddler’s face, sanitized both of their hands, then took Miral to the kitchen for the promised ice cream. Once the toddler was situated in her high chair with a rather larger bowl of chocolate ice cream than was probably wise for not even eleven in the morning, Kathryn dropped into a kitchen chair and promised herself she would not call Tom to come home early. She would watch Mary Poppins and Bert dance with those penguins a hundred times if necessary. She could take care of one two-year-old girl. </p><p>Miral passed out on the couch during the third round of Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and Kathryn took a breath. At least Tom had been wrong about the morning nap. She left the movie playing quietly in the background, and snuck off to clean up the kitchen and answer a few messages from her office. After her last reply was sent, she looked at the clock. Maybe she should go wake Miral — if she let her sleep too long, it would mess up her schedule. The last thing Kathryn wanted was for her to not sleep well tonight; she was really hoping to have some quiet alone time with Tom.</p><p>A scream rent the air.</p><p>Followed shortly by the cry of Michael Banks: “Give me back my money!”</p><p>Oh no.</p><p>Kathryn rushed to the front room, but it was far too late. She’d let Miral see the run on the bank.</p><p>It had only happened once before, several weeks prior and right after she and Tom had become involved. Both Tom and Kathryn had been drowsy after chasing the little girl around Coronado beach all day, and, for whatever reason, Miral had decided to keep watching after the penguin scene rather than her usual rewind and repeat. But something about the scene where the ancient bank president steals a coin from young Michael Banks terrified Miral to the depths of her soul. Tom had ended up sleeping on her floor that night she’d been so distraught. It had been days before she’d asked to see her beloved “peggins” again, and she’d repeatedly implored Kathryn that there be: “No bank, Ant Rin!”</p><p>“It’s all right,” Kathryn called over Miral’s wails as she turned off the TV. “The bank is gone, Miral! It’s all right!”</p><p>“No bank!” she continued to cry from where she lay on the couch. “Don’t like the bank!”</p><p>“It’s all right, Miral,” Kathryn soothed, rubbing the child’s back. “It’s all gone. Calm down.”</p><p>“No!” Miral shouted, wriggling away from Kathryn’s hand. “Bad bank! Bad Ant Rin!”</p><p>Kathryn sighed. This was ridiculous. Tom really need to work on her discipline. It was just a movie, for god’s sake. “That’s quite enough, young lady. The movie is off. Why don’t we go read Pat the Bunny?”</p><p>“No!” Miral yelled again. “Ice cream!”</p><p>“Absolutely not. You’ve had too much already.”</p><p>“Ice cream!” Miral shouted.</p><p>“No, I said!” Kathryn shouted right back.</p><p>And Miral slapped her so hard across the cheek Kathryn’s eyes watered.</p><p>Kathryn grabbed her little wrist. “No hitting! Only bad girls hit!” </p><p>Only to have Miral hit her with her other hand. </p><p>“That’s it,” Kathryn said, once again hauling the kicking, screaming child over her shoulder and heading for the stairs. “I’ve had enough.” </p><p>“Bunny!” Miral screamed in her ear, reaching back towards the couch.</p><p>“You can have Bunny later, when you are a good girl again. Right now you are a very bad girl, and bad girls get punished.”</p><p>“Bunny!” </p><p>But Kathryn had reached her limit. She brought Miral to her bedroom and deposited her on her little bed. “You will stay right there, by yourself, until you calm down.” Then she turned her back on the toddler’s screams of rage, and slammed the door. Miral must have been right behind her, as, within seconds, Kathryn could hear her trying to work the door knob, then pounding on it with her fists. “Miral!” Kathryn shouted back. “You need to calm down or you can’t come out!”</p><p>“No!” Miral shouted back. “Out! Want out! Bunny!”</p><p>“You need to calm down first!”</p><p>“Daddy!” Miral plead. “Want Daddy!”</p><p>But Kathryn held firm. She was not going to back down this time. She’d beat the Kazon, the Hirogen, the Borg. She would not be outlasted by a half-Klingon toddler, no matter how loud she screamed. </p><p>So loud that it drowned out the sounds of the front door opening downstairs. So loud that Kathryn didn’t hear Tom come up the stairs. </p><p>“Kathryn?” Tom called from the stairs, just as Miral’s yells downgraded to tragic whimpering. </p><p>She let out a whole body sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god you’re home early,” she said. “We have not had…” She trailed off at his expression. </p><p>It was livid. “What is the matter with you? What the hell are you doing to my daughter?” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alvarez gripped Tom’s hand firmly as they exited his office. “Thanks again for coming out last minute,” he said. “Kathryn wasn’t kidding. I am very impressed.”</p><p>Tom smiled and thanked him. It had been a fun enough way to spend a morning. The guy’s facility was impressive, with a state-of-the-art flight simulator that was even better than the Academy’s, a massive design room, and a whole cadre of crack engineers. It was a lot like what Tom had once envisioned for… Well, that didn’t really matter anymore, did it? </p><p>“I’ve got a meeting with clients from Bolarus that started five minutes ago, so I’m going to turn you over to Danica for the rest of it. But keep an eye out for a comm from me!” Alvarez said, speed-walking towards a large conference room on the other side of the lobby. “Very impressed!”</p><p>Tom turned to the young human woman who’d been shadowing them all morning. “There’s more? Your boss is into the hard sell, huh?”</p><p>She smiled and led him towards a corridor Tom hadn’t seen yet. “Only when he’s very interested. He just wants me to show you a few of the perks of working for us. You’re a father, right? Does your co-parent also work long hours?”</p><p>“Oh,” Tom said, stumbling on the edge of the rug they were crossing. “She… uh… There isn’t… I’m a single parent. Just me. Flying solo, as the saying goes.”</p><p>Although maybe Kathryn was sort of a co-parent. She did try to help out as she could. But she also worked a lot more than Tom did, and they still hadn’t told anyone about their relationship. No point in trying to explain all that to this poor intern who probably just wanted to finish off this damn tour and go do something interesting. </p><p>They sampled some food from the cafeteria (“Real, cooked food offered twice daily, with replicators for whatever the chefs can’t prepare.”) visited the holo-gym (“Fully customizable — set your temp, humidity, gravity. And three different holographic trainers to choose from!”) and lastly, Danica showed him the creche. </p><p>Tom moved closer to the window and smiled. “They’re adorable.” </p><p>They really were. There were maybe a dozen kids inside, ranging in age from toddlers like Miral to maybe a year or two older. They were all doing different things — one was reading with a caretaker, some were playing a circle game, a few were doing crafts. Although the more Tom looked at them, the more he felt like something was off.</p><p>“We have a separate room for infants with a higher staff to child ratio,” Danica said, “And one for older children as well, but this is where a child of your daughter’s age would be.”</p><p>He nodded and watched the kids another few minutes before it hit him. “They’re all human.”</p><p>Danica blinked. “Oh, well, as an Earth-based business, we do primarily employ humans, yes.”</p><p>Tom frowned. “Do you have any non-humans on staff here?”</p><p>Danica’s perma-smile faltered. “I believe… I think we have a half-Betazoid in Client Relations? But it wouldn’t be an issue, Mr. Paris. Our test pilots have very little contact with Client Relations.”</p><p>Tom’s turn to blink. Not only did she think he was a xenophobe, she was willing to bend over backwards to accommodate him. “My daughter is a quarter-Klingon,” he said. “I want to make sure she’d be comfortable here.”</p><p>“Oh!” Danica said, her smile back at full power. “But that’s wonderful! She’s adopted?”</p><p>Tom shoved his hands in his pockets and headed back to the lobby. “No. She’s not.”</p><p>Danica rushed after him. “But you said—”</p><p>“Her mother died. Thanks for the tour, but I’ve got to head back to California.”</p><p>His scheduled shuttle wasn’t leaving for almost an hour, but he managed to get a transporter reservation in fifteen minutes’ time. As he headed towards the station, he took a minute to feel bad for Danica — clearly Alvarez had instructed her to close the deal. But it wasn’t really her fault. It wasn’t Alvarez’s fault, either, although now Tom wondered if bigotry against non-humans was the reason he’d left the ‘Fleet. But, even if the place had had the species make-up of a Federation council meeting, Tom was never going to take this job. It had been easier to let Kathryn talk him into this meeting than keep arguing, but test piloting? Never going to happen. He was all Miral had now — he sure as hell wasn’t going to work a job that required him risking his neck a dozen times a week. </p><p>Kathryn was right about one thing — Tom needed to explore some new career options. Teaching remained fine for now, but it has always been intended as a stopgap measures — Tom couldn’t imagine it doing it for the rest of his working life. Maybe he could start holoprogramming again? But nothing really captured his interest anymore. Captain Proton, Fair Haven, his grease monkey program — they all felt like childhood hobbies he’d outgrown. But he didn’t know what he wanted to do instead, and who was there to talk to about it? His father would just use it as an excuse to push him towards command track again, Harry would make that bewildered face he always made when Tom said he wasn’t sure he wanted to stay in the ‘Fleet. And Kathryn? That was exactly how he’d ended up on this pointless interview.</p><p>He really needed to talk to her. Or, maybe it was more accurate to say he needed to get her to listen. He cared about her a lot. She’d done so much for him… after. Tom truly believed he might have ended up completely losing it, losing everything, maybe even Miral — if she hadn’t shown up and helped him pull himself together. How could he not care about her? Besides, she was funny, and smart, and sexy as hell. Any man would be lucky to call Kathryn Janeway his… </p><p>And that was the issue. Tom had no idea what she was to him. Definitely not his captain anymore. More than a friend, too. But she was also both those things, not to mention the woman who’d freed him from prison, and the one who’d thrown him into solitary for a month in what, as far as Tom could tell, had been a fit of vindictive pique. He was grateful to her, and kind of in awe of her, and also, sometimes, if he was being entirely honest, a little pissed off with her, too.<br/>Because every time he thought maybe they should tell his parents about what was going on, she talked him out of it. She’d also basically steamrollered him into this damn job interview, despite Tom trying to tell her a dozen different times he wasn't really interested. And then there was how she was with Miral.</p><p>He knew Kathryn adored his daughter — that wasn’t a question. But the woman seemed to not have the faintest idea of how to deal with a toddler’s more difficult but <em>totally age-appropriate</em> moments. He’d been so out of it those first few weeks, he hadn’t consciously noticed. And then, by the time he’d recognized the first hints of trouble, he’d become so dependent on Kathryn’s strength and comfort, it had been easier to just look the other way and intervene as needed. As the weeks passed, he’d tried casually dropping a few hints about parenting books he’d read and leading by example, but none of it seemed to be taking. </p><p>But, when Tom realized the idea of Kathryn caring for Miral for several hours in a row left him filled with dread, he knew he couldn’t keep avoiding the issue. He needed to get over whatever leftover power dynamic issues he had with her, sit her down, and have it out. Not worry about her feelings, not get distracted by sex, but instead tell her that he knew what he was doing (because he suspected she didn’t think he did) and tell her how he, as Miral’s father, wanted her to deal with tantrums, and correcting bad behavior, and so on. </p><p>He beamed into his neighborhood a few minutes later with a new sense of resolve. This waste of time interview had settled it. He would be clearer with Kathryn — about what he wanted for himself, for their relationship, and, most especially, for Miral. His daughter had to be his main priority, and if Kathryn didn’t understand that… Well, the alternative was not something Tom really wanted to consider, so he would just have to hope she’d get it.</p><p>At least he was getting home an hour earlier than he expected. He could get some one-on-one time with Miral, give Kathryn a break, and they’d have it out after dinner. Nothing to be worried about. He was just being a good parent — an advocate for his daughter. It would make his relationship better with Kathryn, too. He typed in his code, opened the front door, and his heart immediately leapt to his throat.</p><p>“Daddy!” </p><p>Miral was screaming for him. Not in an angry tantrum, but in a note of pure anguish and terror. Tom pounded up the stairs. What had happened? Had there been an accident? Had Kathryn been hurt somehow? Had Miral? “Kathryn?” he called out.</p><p>When he reached the second floor, what he saw shocked him to silence. Kathryn Janeway, hair disheveled and face red, screaming at his daughter and holding the door to the bedroom shut, while Miral pounded and cried on the other side. </p><p>“Oh, thank god you’re home early. We have not had…” Her expression fell, her words trailed off.</p><p>And Tom found his voice. “What is the matter with you?” he spat out. “What the hell are you doing to my daughter?” </p><p>“Tom,” she said, letting go of the doorknob. “I’m not doing anything. Miral was—”</p><p>“Get out of my way,” he said, pushing past her and slowly opening the door. He dropped his voice low. “Miral, sweetie, it’s OK. I’m here.” </p><p>Her whimpering changed back to despondent wails, and Tom pushed the door open enough to squeeze inside the room. She was collapsed in a heap on the other side, her face streaked with tears and throw-up on the front of her shirt. As soon as she spotted him, Miral reached for him; Tom scooped her up and clutched her to his chest. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m here. It’s OK now.” </p><p>“Tom, I’m sorry,” Kathryn said from behind him. “I didn’t—”</p><p>“Go,” Tom said. He couldn’t even look at her. “Get out of my house.”</p><p>“Tom!” </p><p>Miral began to cry again. The nerve of the woman — to sound indignant, to act as if Tom were the one in the wrong. “You need to leave” Tom said through clenched teeth. “I need to calm her down, and that’s not happening with you here. Please, Kathryn. Go.”</p><p>It took about twenty minutes of singing, rocking, and a few rounds of Guess How Much I Love you before Miral stopped whining and sniffling. He took her down to the kitchen and, by the way she devoured the peaches he offered her, he suspected part of her mood was low blood sugar. After getting her a bowl of cut bits of turkey and cheese, he checked the replicator log to see when and what Kathryn had given her for lunch, and discovered she’d had nothing but ice cream since breakfast. “What the fuck?” he muttered to himself, only to get even more annoyed when he discovered a message from one of the mothers he sometimes saw at the playground, wondering if Tom knew his new nanny wasn’t very good at keeping Miral in check. </p><p>He looked at his sweet girl, now happily sitting on the floor with her bunny and a toy shuttle, singing a song of nonsense words to them as she tucked them under a blanket. “Well,” he said to her. “I guess your old dad screwed this one up good.”</p><p>She beamed back at him, and he felt terrible. As pissed as he was at Kathryn right now, he knew some of this was his fault. They should have had this conversation weeks ago. His sister Kath, thankfully, had worked an early shift at the hospital and agreed to transport over from San Diego and watch Miral for the evening. Once that was settled, he texted Kathryn at both her office and her apartment, saying he was sorry for how he’d reacted and they needed to meet somewhere to talk tonight. </p><p>“My apt. 20:30h.” was her only response.</p><p>“At least she can’t throw me in the brig this time,” Tom said to Miral. </p><p>“See da bridge?” she asked, cocking her head at him.</p><p>He laughed. She loved it when they took a hover car over Golden Gate and walked around Muir Woods. They hadn’t done that in… Tom sighed, thinking of the last time, about five months ago, and who else had been there. “Maybe tomorrow, kiddo,” he said, stroking her soft curls. </p><p>At 20:25, Tom hit the buzzer at Kathryn’s apartment and tried to keep his dinner where he’d left it. He wasn’t going to her ready room, he reminded himself. This wasn’t Captain Janeway. It was Kathryn — the one who was a terrible cook, an unrepentant gossip, told hilarious bawdy jokes. If this was going to be a real relationship, if they were ever going to get to the point where they told their families and openly blended their lives together, they had to be able to have the important conversations, no matter how difficult, and nothing was more important to Tom than Miral.</p><p>The door was cracked open when he got there. He slipped in to find her at the big picture window by the couch, looking out into the San Francisco night with a glass of red wine in her hand. He glanced at the bottle on the counter. “Is that the cab I got you from Napa?” </p><p>“It is.” She had yet to turn towards him.</p><p>“Mind sharing?”</p><p>“I thought you didn’t like to drink when you were in a bad place.”</p><p>Tom let out a deep breath. She was pissed he’d yelled at her and kicked out. Which was maybe fair. Kathryn had never been a parent; she couldn’t understand the visceral response one had to hearing their child in distress. He poured himself a half a glass and took a sip. At least the wine was good. “I didn’t realize I was in a bad place.”</p><p>Nothing. Complete silence. Tom was used to a partner who shouted, sometimes threw things, one who hadn’t had any issues letting him know when and how he’d fucked up. He knew how to deal with that. This tense air of disappointment, however? It was like he was sixteen again, standing in his father’s office.</p><p>But he wasn’t sixteen. He was an adult, she was his… something, and he could be the bigger person, if necessary. “I want to start by saying I’m sorry. I know we’ve both done things today we need to apologize for—” </p><p>“Oh, I am not apologizing for a damn thing.”</p><p><em>For fuck’s sake.</em> “Really, Kathryn? You locked my child in her room and let her scream to the point of vomiting, and you don’t have anything to apologize for? Nothing?”</p><p>She slammed her wine glass down so hard Tom expected the stem to shatter, but her voice was level and cold. “I disciplined your child. If you’d been doing that from day one, she might have known how to respond appropriately.”</p><p>“She’s two! You don’t <em>discipline</em> a two-year-old! You distract, you redirect, you let them experience some consequences, but you don’t shut them in a goddamn room by themselves!” he barked. “Although, that is your go-to method, isn’t it? Solitary confinement?”</p><p>She glared back at him. “Grow up, Tom. Stop trying to be Miral's buddy and be her parent. Do you have any idea what she did to me today? Screaming, shoving other children, running away from me in the street. Slapping me because I told her no!”</p><p>“And you’ve seen her pull that with me when, exactly?” Tom asked. “Are you pissed because of Miral’s behavior, or are you pissed because you failed at something?”</p><p>Kathryn’s face went stony and Tom couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “Oh my god, that’s it! You’re just mad because I’m better at you than something.”</p><p>Her eyes narrowed. “That’s ridiculous.”</p><p>“Bullshit it is,” Tom said. “Because that’s what you get off on, isn’t it? Fixing my life. Telling me how to deal with my family, telling me what job I should take, telling me how I should parent. You’re not my captain anymore, Kathryn. You don’t get to give me orders and expect me to comply without question.”</p><p>“You were a disaster!” she snapped. “You weren’t even functional! If it weren’t for me ‘telling you what to do’, your father probably <em>would</em> have taken your daughter away! So think on that for a minute before whining about how awful I’ve been to you.” </p><p>“Don’t do that,” Tom said. “That’s not what this argument is about, and you know it.” </p><p>She turned back to the window, her voice dropping once again to ice. “All I wanted was to help you and Miral. And this is the thanks I get.”</p><p>Tom nearly fell for it. He started thinking again, about how she’d helped him those first few weeks. How much he’d relied on her. How could he be so ungrateful? </p><p>Then he remembered how Miral had screamed for him and clutched at his shirt, and he got pissed off all over again. “Does this really work?”</p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p>“This manipulative crap you always pull when things don’t go your way,” he said. What he wouldn’t give for a partner to scream at him right now. Loud, angry honesty was sure as hell better than this. “I’m leaving. Let me know when you want to stop playing victim and have a real conversation.” He should have left without another word; taken the high road. But when had Tom Paris ever done that? He looked back at her. “B’Elanna always hated this side of you.”</p><p>“B’Elanna would have hated that you’re raising her daughter to be a spoiled brat.” </p><p>He froze, his hand still on the doorknob. Kathryn’s mouth hung open, as if hoping she could recapture the words that hung between them. “Tom…”</p><p>“Good-bye, Kathryn.” He didn’t turn back again. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kathryn discreetly wiped the sweat off her brow as she walked through the streets of Raal. Given its coastal location, Kathryn had assumed the ocean breezes would make it a bit more tolerable than the average Vulcan city, but, instead, the only effect was more humidity. She consulted the directions on her PADD — take the next left and a quick right, and she’d be at Tuvok’s residence.</p><p>Upon her arrival, she was met by T’Pel at the door. “Kathryn Janeway,” she greeted her. “Both my husband and I are gratified you have chosen to visit our home.”</p><p>Kathryn smiled. “Of course. Thank you for having me. You and your family are doing well?”</p><p>T’Pel waved her into the house. “Our children are healthy and well-occupied. Vayek, our second son, became a father last month.”</p><p>“So I heard. Congratulations.” Kathryn paused. Had T’Pel deliberately not mentioned Tuvok’s health? Only one way to find out. “And you and Tuvok?”</p><p>“I am also well and continue to be engaged in my teaching at the Kir Musical Institute. My husband’s health remains stable.”<br/>“I”m glad to hear that.” Tuvok’s neurological degeneration had been largely controlled by periodic use of the Fal-tor-voh mind meld ceremony, but, in his last letter to Kathryn, her old friend had confessed to occasional “disconcerting” lapses of control when he was due for another session. His physician was developing a new and more permanent treatment, but it might be months or even years before it became safe to attempt. </p><p>T’Pel took her to the greenhouse attached to the back of their home, which, Kathryn was very sorry to discover, was even more humid than the outdoors. “He is within,” T’Pel said. “And is waiting for you. I will remain in the house, as the climate is more to my preference.”</p><p>Kathryn wiped her forehead again and sighed. If Tuvok expected their entire conversation to take place in a greenhouse too hot for even his Vulcan wife, this might have to be a short visit. She found him in the back corner, repotting an orchid that was a lovely shade of teal. “Hello, Tuvok.”</p><p>He gave her a brief nod before turning back to his charge. He carefully lay a thick layer of moss around the plant’s base, sprayed it down with a fine mist, and sanitized his hands before turning to her. “I am pleased to see you, Kathryn.” He studied her face a moment. “Would you prefer our visit take place elsewhere?”</p><p>“Why do you ask?” Kathryn said with a smile. “Just because I’m melting right before your eyes?”</p><p>He raised an eyebrow, but directed her back towards the door from which she entered. She tried not to sigh too audibly when they were back in the far cooler environs of the house. Tuvok brought her to an airy sitting room, and T’Pel soon arrived with a tray of iced tea.</p><p>“I confess to being surprised you’re here, Kathryn,” Tuvok said once they were alone again. </p><p>“Why? I was at a conference only one continent over. You thought I would come all the way to Vulcan and not make the time to see you?”</p><p>“I did not. I mean: I was surprised you were coming to Vulcan at all. A conference on planning the Federation’s next public relations campaign and how Starfleet might aid its goals hardly seems to be within your areas of interest.”</p><p>Tuvok was coming out swinging, then. Kathryn dearly loved her old friend and often missed his wise counsel. But sometimes he was too damn insightful for his own good. “I”m a vice admiral in the Diplomatic and Public Relations Corps. This is my job, Tuvok.”</p><p>“You’ll forgive me if I observe it is not one that utilizes your strengths as an officer.”</p><p>Perhaps sensing he’d pushed her too far, he switched topics — asking after Harry Kim and other from <em>Voyager</em> who were still in Starfleet, sharing his own knowledge of how Seven of Nine was doing at the Vulcan Science Academy. “She tells me she appreciates the efficiency of the Vulcan mind, although does occasionally become frustrated with its dispassionate nature.”</p><p>Kathryn chuckled, though she couldn’t help but feel a pang as well. “Too dispassionate for a former drone? Impressive. I’m glad she’s doing well.”</p><p>“You should contact her. She resides in the same city as the conference you are attending.”</p><p>Given how many messages Kathryn had sent her over the last two years and how terse the responses had been, that didn’t seem like a productive use of her time. “I’m not sure she’d be interested in seeing me, Tuvok.”</p><p>“I am sure she would be.” </p><p>Kathryn said nothing, hoping he'd get the hint and move on, but no dice.</p><p>“We have discussed your relationship and its decline on multiple occasions," Tuvok continued. "Annika, as she now prefers, felt you indicated your feelings for her by your behavior after <em>Voyager</em>’s return to the Alpha Quadrant. Based on your withdrawal and lack of direct support, she concluded you were no longer interested in pursuing your friendship. An overture on your part would act as a correction.”</p><p>Kathryn rolled her eyes. “My ‘withdrawal’? ‘Lack of support’? For god’s sake — I was swamped with briefings! I was under constant scrutiny! Everything I had I put into ensuring<em> Voyager</em>’s crew would be treated fairly. To keeping the Maquis out of prison, to give the Doctor at least some autonomy, to make sure Seven — <em>Annika</em> — wasn’t held responsible for what she did as a drone. And now she’s mad I didn’t hold her hand enough?” </p><p>Besides, Kathryn thought, it’s not like she hadn’t had the full support of another member of the command team at the time. </p><p>“I am merely sharing Annika’s perception, Kathryn. I am well aware of what you have done on behalf of the crew.”</p><p>“I know you are,” Kathryn said. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I have not been harmed by your outburst.”</p><p>Kathryn sipped her tea. There was a sense of peace in Tuvok’s home which she’d long been missing. No sounds other than the trickle of a small fountain and the singing birds outside. No droning diplomats, no admiral double-speak, no mindless chatter. Just quiet.</p><p>But the quiet wasn’t the point, was it? Her apartment was quiet, after all. It was that this place was a home. A peaceful one, a still one, yes, but also a place of succor for Tuvok, T’Pel, likely their children and grandchildren as well. That was what Kathryn was missing — had been missing for a very long time.</p><p>With one, achingly temporary exception. </p><p>“I’ll call her tomorrow,” she said finally. “See if she’d be willing to meet before I leave.”</p><p>Tuvok nodded. “I am pleased to hear that. There is no logic in not pursuing the renewal of a relationship both people desire.”</p><p>Kathryn gave him a sharp look. Although she supposed the number of people Tuvok might be referencing was more a commentary on Kathryn than anyone else. “Are we still talking about Seven?”</p><p>“I believe my advice is applicable to any type of relationship.”</p><p>Kathryn went with the safer topic. “I spoke to Chakotay two weeks ago.” He’d contacted her at her office, much to Kathryn’s surprise. Had apologized for not reaching out earlier, for not being more of a support when they’d first returned. Had accepted <em>her</em> apology for the dozens of ways in which she’d failed him in the Delta Quadrant. The conversation had been awkward, stilted, and one she’d wished they’d had two years earlier, but it had been nice — to talk to him again. To have a sense of closure. And she’d been genuinely happy for him, too, when he’d told her what had prompted his call: his upcoming wedding to a woman he’d met on Dorvan and to which he’d invited all of <em>Voyager</em>’s former crew.  </p><p>“I’m pleased to hear that as well.”</p><p>The silence hung between them like an incoming storm front. Because the one thing Kathryn had never told him in all her letters was what had happened with Tom. Tuvok knew she’d supported him after B’Elanna’s death, and she’d shared plenty of stories about Miral. But their brief romance? Their terrible falling out? Kathryn had kept that for herself, and that’s where she fully intended to leave it. She trusted Tuvok deeply, but, even six months later, the pain from how things had ended between her and Tom felt like a raw wound.</p><p>“Lieutenant Paris has told me what transpired between the two of you.”</p><p>So much for keeping it to herself. Damn Tom and his big mouth. “I didn’t realize you two were close.”</p><p>Tuvok, of course, was unphased by the ice in her tone. “That would not be an accurate description of our relationship. He contacted me to discuss some of the tactical maneuvers we had coordinated during our time on <em>Voyager</em> as he felt they might be useful in his current position.”</p><p>“What? Where is he?” She hated it — how her heart instantly began to pound at Tuvok’s words. Why the hell would Tom need tactical maneuvers? Had he taken a posting on a ship? A dangerous one? Where was Miral?</p><p>“He is on Qo’noS,” Tuvok told her.</p><p>“You’re joking.”</p><p>But of course Tuvok wasn’t. Tom had gone — with Miral, apparently — as part of the exchange program between Starfleet and the Klingon Defense Force. Previously, it had always been done between ships, but, as Tuvok explained, Tom himself had suggested something more long term. “How is he?”</p><p>“Still irreverent, yet less prone to bloviating than he was on <em>Voyager</em>.”</p><p>“Tuvok.”</p><p>“He is well, Kathryn, as is Miral. He expressed concern for you and, with little prodding from me I might add, told me of how your relationship both evolved and was severed.”</p><p>Kathryn drank the rest of her tea and shifted in her seat. “I should go.”</p><p>“Kathryn.”</p><p>She stood. “What, Tuvok? What more is there to say? Yes, I made a terrible decision and became romantically involved with someone still grieving for his wife. Yes, I said and did awful things to him and destroyed any chance of salvaging our friendship. Yes, I failed Tom Paris just as badly as every single other member of <em>Voyager</em>’s senior staff. Is that what you’re waiting to hear?”</p><p>“Most certainly not,” Tuvok said with a slow blink. “Though I do find it curious, how you seem to be the sole bad actor in each of your statements. Based on my conversation with Lieutenant Paris, you were not the only one responsible for the situation ‘going sideways,’ as he put it.”</p><p>Kathryn sank back into the low cushioned chair on which she’d been sitting and rubbed her face. “Please, Tuvok. I’m too tired for this. I need… I need to move on. From Tom, from Chakotay, from <em>Voyager</em>. I’m so tired.”</p><p>She felt warm pressure on her knee and looked down to see Tuvok’s steady brown hand resting there. Vulcans, as touch telepaths, rarely initiated physical contact. Only with those for whom they felt a deep connection, he’d once told her. And only in times of great need. </p><p>“You are not responsible for us.” </p><p>She kept her eyes on the hand. “What?”</p><p>Tuvok waited until she looked up and met his eyes. “The Doctor being restricted to Jupiter Station. Lieutenant Kim’s slower than typical advancement. Annika and Chakotay’s decisions to leave Earth and Starfleet. My neurological disorder. B’Elanna Torres’ death. None of these things occurred because of your actions, Kathryn. Your guilt is misplaced and unproductive. You must let it go.”</p><p>“Easy for you to say,” she managed to get out before her throat closed and her tears began to fall. She felt Tuvok remove his hand, which only made sense. Of course a Vulcan would be uncomfortable with such a human display. </p><p>Which was why she was so surprised when, only a moment later, she felt his arms wrap around her shoulders in a strong embrace.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Honestly, this chapter was the most fun for me to write of all of them. Also, I'm sorry I'm too lazy to add the accents to words like "protegee" and "touche."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tom only took a few steps off the transport pod at Krehl’moq Station before the smell hit him and he remembered. </p><p>It was the day of the monthly Butchers Market. </p><p>“Damn,” he said, moving out of the flow of foot traffic. Chakotay, who had a layover on Qo’noS after being at an anthropology conference in the next system, was due to meet him in less than fifteen minutes. Given Tom could barely make it through the market without vomiting, he couldn’t imagine a vegetarian having much tolerance for it. <em>Make sure you use the west entrance to the bar</em>, Tom texted him. <em>Trust me on this one.</em> </p><p>That done, he rejoined the crowd, only to get roughly shoved back again by a two-meter tall Klingon wearing a KDF cadet’s uniform. “Out of my way, human,” the man snarled. </p><p>When Tom had first arrived on Qo’noS six months ago, he’d still automatically followed the human manners his mother had drilled into him since infancy. Someone bumped into you, you said, “I’m sorry,” and moved out of the way. He’d quickly learned, after being shoved so hard onto his ass he’d bruised his tailbone, that this was considered impolite in Klingon society. Responding in kind hadn’t gone so well for him either, and he was pretty sure he would have ended up with a broken arm if the Klingon he’d confronted hadn’t caught sight of Miral and backed off with a glare. Now he knew, especially if his daughter wasn’t with him, best to stay in whatever wall he’d been shoved into and act like nothing had happened. </p><p>He did a lot of that on Qo’noS — ignored shit. The insults, the baiting, the occasional creepy leer. It didn’t happen when Miral was with him — Klingon culture, for all its blustering and aggression, was incredibly welcoming to children, especially those with Klingon heritage — and it rarely amounted to anything beyond a few bumps or a bruised ego. He could look past it. It was for a good cause, after all.</p><p>Because he’d mostly come here for Miral. After that terrible test pilot interview, after the spectacular failure that had been his relationship with Kathryn, Tom knew he needed to make a drastic change. Miral was part-Klingon, after all — why have her spend her whole childhood on a primarily human planet? So, eight months ago, he’d approached his father with this idea. Expand on the Starfleet-KDF cultural exchange. Tom would go to Qo’noS, teach the Klingons some human piloting techniques, and see what he could bring back to Starfleet in nine months’ time. He’d have a massive new project to keep him occupied; Miral would get to spend time with B’Elanna’s extended family and become immersed in Klingon culture. </p><p>Not to mention the fact that getting several hundred light years away from Earth drastically reduced the possibility of Tom running into Kathryn. </p><p>His father, who had likely known all along what was happening between his son and his former protegee, signed on as a sponsor almost immediately. He’d gone so far as to tell Tom he was proud of him — for coming up with an innovative idea, for taking the initiative to connect his daughter to her Klingon roots — and Tom had taken this unexpected blessing and ran with it. </p><p>And it had, for the most part, gone as he’d planned. Most of the officers at the KDF were accepting and kept their teasing good-natured, and he enjoyed the work far more than teaching green cadets back on Earth. Even better, Miral loved spending time with B’Elanna’s aunts and uncles and cousins. She was nothing but enthusiastic about the Klingon nursery she attended three days a week, and she and Tom were both learning the language. (“Your daughter speaks better despite her baby’s tongue,” B’Elanna’s uncle Merok was fond of saying to Tom, “but your efforts are honorable.”) Some of it was due to the more rapid development that resulted from her Klingon genetics, but Miral had blossomed in the six months they’d spent on Qo’noS. Sunny, hilarious, reasonably obedient for three. She was, in a word, happy. And that was worth any number of Klingons shoving and insulting him.</p><p>That didn’t mean Tom wasn’t counting down the days until his tenure here was over three months from now. If only he had any idea what came next.</p><p>But first, he had to exit the transport station. As bad as the meat smell was inside, it would be a hundred times worse once he was out in the heat and amongst the stalls of the marketplace. He took a finally deep inhale of semi-fresh air, switched to mouth-breathing, and pushed his way out. </p><p>The reek of fresh blood, spoiled meat, and shredded bowel hit his nose like a brick to the face, and the bile rose in Tom’s throat. “Too much for you human?” a nearby butcher taunted, laughing. An adolescent ran up to him, shoving a piece of what Tom had recently learned was smoked minn’hor pancreas under his nose. “Free sample?” </p><p>“No thanks,” Tom managed to get out, forcing a smile to his face. </p><p>He made it past the piles of boqrat livers, oozing creamy yellow fluid; the qa’raj vendor, with her racks of plucked and disemboweled birds hanging in tidy rows; and spotted his final obstacle: the ever-popular stuffed targ bladder booth. The east side entrance to Akall’s bar lay just beyond it; all Tom had left to do was navigate the booth’s long line of customers without pissing anyone off too badly, and he’d be safe inside. Akall had a lot of non-Klingon clientele; she was careful to ensure her establishment was well-protected against the more noxious odors of the Qo’noS capital.</p><p>He was in spitting distance of the door when a hand shot out from the targ bladder line and closed around his bicep. </p><p>A female hand. </p><p>
  <em>Damn.</em>
</p><p>“Can I help you?” Tom asked, then cursed himself and his damn human politeness. Depending on her intentions, his question would either piss her off or act as encouragement.</p><p>The woman separated herself from the line. She probably had ten centimeters and twenty kilos on him. “I did not know humans had the stomach for the famed meat markets of Krehl’moq,” she purred at him.</p><p>Based on the look in her eyes, this lady was not looking for the same kind of meat as everyone else. Tom tried to look as small and unappealing as possible. Although, damn it, some of these Klingon women seemed to like that. “I don’t, really,” he said, swallowing hard. “Just passing through on my way to Akall’s.” </p><p>The woman scoffed and spit into the ground at Tom’s feet. “Akall! She waters down her blood wine. Do not give that toDSaH your credits. There’s a much better place I can show you, human. Come with me. Now.”</p><p>At which point another female Klingon hand shot out from beyond Tom’s shoulder and pressed a kligat to his would-be paramour’s throat. Akall had apparently been eavesdropping. “You insult my establishment, taHqeq?” </p><p>The woman, still not releasing his arm, growled low in her throat and bared her teeth at the insult. Tom really wished he was not caught in the middle of this. “Uh, ladies,” he started. </p><p>“Silence, petaQ,” said Akall from behind him. She pressed the kligat tighter to her adversary’s neck, drawing a single drop of blood. “Release the human, and get out of my sight,” she snarled. </p><p>The woman from the bladder line dropped her shoulders, as well as Tom’s arm, and he started breathing again. </p><p>Only to get dragged by his other arm into the bar. </p><p>“Ow,” he said, once the door was closed and they were insulated against the sounds and smells of the market. “I’m attached to that, you know.”</p><p>Akall laughed and let him go, only to grab his chin and kiss him soundly. “You will be the death of me, saj, the amount of trouble you get into.”</p><p>“It wasn’t my fault!” Tom exclaimed, grinning. “I was just walking by! An innocent bystander!”</p><p>She smacked him in the ass with her bare palm. “You forget I’ve had you in my bedroom. Innocent you are not!” She spun him to face a table on the other side of the large bar room. “Your friend has already arrived. Do you want one of your human ales, or a real drink?”</p><p>Tom chuckled. “My regular lager is fine, thanks. Bring one for my friend, too.”</p><p>He nodded over at Chakotay, who was watching him with a bemused look on his face. B’Elanna probably would have laughed to know how friendly the two men had gotten since her death. He hadn’t stayed on Earth long after the funeral, which Tom had barely noticed in his grief. But, shortly before Tom and Miral had left for Qo’noS, Chakotay had sent Tom a letter. A kind and apologetic one, expressing the older man’s own sense of mourning, as well as his regret and remorse that it had driven him to leave Earth rather than stay and help Tom. He’d shared stories about B’Elanna, too; ones Tom had never heard. The irony was, if Chakotay had tried to say any of this to Tom’s face, he probably would have deflected it with a joke or, given it was Chakotay, just been an asshole until the other man backed off. But reading it all in a letter was different; writing letters was different, too. Tom had found the act of replying a far safer outlet for his emotions than talking to anyone directly had been.</p><p>Tom crossed the room to the table, and the two men greeted each other with a quick but heartfelt embrace. As they both sat, Chakotay nodded over towards the bar where Akall was pulling them two beers “I’m happy for you, Tom. A little surprised given your last letter, but—”</p><p>Tom smiled and put up his hand. “It’s not like that. Akall’s just a friend.” At Chakotay’s raised eyebrows, he continued: “Yes, a friend I have sex with.” When Chakotay’s eyebrows showed no signs of returning to their resting state, Tom added: “She literally calls me ‘pet.’ That’s not a term Klingons use for lovers they take seriously. Hers is the only bar in Qam’chee that sells human alcohol, and, after my third or fourth visit, we got to talking. She lost her husband around the same time B’Elanna died, we were both lonely, and—”</p><p>“He’s quite skilled for a human lover,” Akall said, dropping two beers on the table in front of them. “Good stamina, the right amount of submission. His wife taught him well.”</p><p>Tom’s cheeks burned, especially when he caught Chakotay’s teasing grin. “Thanks,” he muttered. “Maybe a little louder next time. I don’t know if my friend from outside heard you.”</p><p>Akall laughed and slapped him on the shoulder before walking back to the bar. “I’ll miss you when you leave Qo’noS, Tom Paris!” </p><p>“You’re leaving after you’re done with the KDF, then?” Chakotay asked him, still chuckling.</p><p>Tom nodded. “Miral loves it — nobody seems to care she’s only a quarter and I’m grateful for that. And I’ll bring her back to visit every year or so, but… Chakotay, it’s exhausting. I like Klingons, I do, but the constant mockery for being too weak, too nice, too pale. Hell, even stuff like that,” he waved vaguely in Akall’s direction. “Being the only human in a city of Klingons is not something I could do forever.” He took a long drink from his glass. “It’s helped me figure out some stuff, though. I understand her a lot better now.”</p><p>“Miral?”</p><p>“B’Elanna,” Tom said. “I never got it before. Not really. How… alien she felt. Why she was so uncomfortable in her own skin. But now that I’m a parent, and thinking about the stories B’Elanna used to tell me about her childhood… I feel like shit, that I never really understood. I just wish I could tell her, you know? That I’m sorry she went through that. That I understand it more now. That I’m going to do better for our daughter. Or try to, anyway.”</p><p>Chakotay gave him a sad smile. “Tom, I’m glad living here has given you some insight into B’Elanna. And you’re right — it’s going to make you a better father to Miral. But you need to give yourself more credit. I know what B’Elanna was like before you two got together, and I’m here to tell you: your relationship, your love for her? It healed a lot of the pain that had been there. Maybe not all of it — that would be a pretty tall order for anyone. But you made her happy, Tom. She died knowing she was loved, knowing she’d chosen a good man to be a father to her child. That’s a lot more than some people get. That’s more than I think she ever expected to get. So, uh,” he said, clearing his throat, “don’t be so hard on yourself, OK?”</p><p>Tom stared at his glass of ale and took a quick swipe at his eyes. “Uh, Chakotay?” he said. “Maybe I wasn’t clear earlier, but two human males crying into their beers in the middle of a Klingon bar is pretty much the fastest track possible to an ass kicking. So can we, uh, change the subject?” </p><p>Chakotay laughed and scrubbed his face. “Good idea.”</p><p>“I haven’t even ask you about the wedding. How’s married life treating you?” </p><p>“It’s good, it’s good. Tama’s wonderful. You and Miral should come to Dorvan some time. Spend a few weeks. We’d both love to have you.”</p><p>Tom hadn’t met Tama yet, but, from what Chakotay had told him, it sounded like a good match. The other man’s Delta Quadrant love life had been pretty fraught, between Riley Frazier and her faux-Borg collective, the “woman” from species 8472, his ill-considered romance with Annika. Not to mention how he’d pined for a certain someone else Tom had no plans on bringing up, maybe ever again. “Maybe after I’m done with the KDF, before we head back to Earth. Sorry again we couldn’t be there for the ceremony.”</p><p>Chakotay waved him off. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Qo’noS to Dorvan is a long trip for me. I don’t blame you for not wanting to do it solo with a toddler.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Tom said, digging a finger into a hole on the table’s surface and thinking about how much his daughter adored space travel. “That was it.” It had absolutely nothing to do with who else had been on the guest list. “So, uh, who all was there?”</p><p>“Most of the Maquis crew. The Wildmans made it. Harry, Tuvok.” Chakotay paused, then squinted at him. “And Admiral Janeway.”</p><p>“Oh?” Tom said, because of course he hadn’t told Chakotay about <em>that</em>. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t be sitting here in a bar, having a friendly beer, if Tom had told him anything about <em>that</em>. “How’s she doing?”</p><p>“Good,” Chakotay said. “A little sad, maybe. Lonely.”</p><p>Tom frowned. “How is that ‘good’?”</p><p>Chakotay laughed. “Touche. I didn’t know how else to bring it up.”</p><p>“Oh god, you know?” Tom said, burying his face in his hands. “Of course you know. Who blabbed? Harry?”</p><p>“Does that really matter?”</p><p>“You hate me, don’t you? You’re going to cut me down where I stand.”</p><p>Chakotay’s turn to frown. “You’re right, Tom. You have been on Qo’noS too long. Why would I do that?”</p><p>Tom rolled his eyes. “I sat two meters in front of you for <em>seven years</em>. There were days I don’t think a laser scalpel could have cut the sexual tension between the two of you.”</p><p>The older man’s face took on that look of stern disappointment mixed with abject frustration that Tom had once been very familiar with, before it softened, and he sighed. “I guess there’s no point in pretending, huh? I suppose that doesn’t matter anymore, either.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you?” Tom asked him. “Why didn’t the two of you ever go for it?”</p><p>“She was my captain. It would have been inappropriate—”</p><p>Tom raised a hand. “If I wanted the bullshit regulations answer, I would have asked Kathryn. What do <em>you</em> think, Chakotay?”</p><p>“She was scared,” Chakotay said after a long silence. “That was some of it. She was scared of falling in love with me and losing me. She was scared she’d be blinded by our relationship, and put someone else in danger to keep me safe. And she felt responsible, too. For all of it. Tuvok knew, I think. And, while I got a glimpse of it on a few occasions, she tried to keep it from the rest of the crew. It broke her, Tom. Every time someone was injured, or killed. Every time we had a loss. She felt like she was solely responsible for every single person on that ship. So many things out there were out of her control. So, she controlled what she could.”</p><p>“Like your relationship.”</p><p>“Like our relationship.”</p><p>“I feel terrible,” Tom said. “I shouldn’t have… I wasn’t ready. I knew I wasn’t ready. But she was there, and it felt good in the moment. And I just wanted to forget for a little while, you know? Pretend things were fine. Pretend things could be good again. But I shouldn’t have done that to her. I feel like I used her.”</p><p>“You did, in a way,” Chakotay said. “But she’s not a child, Tom. She knew what you’d been through, were still going through. You shouldn’t beat yourself up too much over this, either. It wasn’t all your fault.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Tom sighed. “At least now I know better. No more relationships for me. It’s better that way. Miral hasn’t even met Akall.”</p><p>Chakotay stared at him. “What are you saying? Are you giving up on the idea of finding another partner?”</p><p>Tom shrugged. “I guess? I know you just got married, and I’m happy for you, but who needs the headaches? B’Elanna was the love of my life, Chakotay. I’m not going to top that. I’ve got Miral. She’s all I need.”</p><p>“You know she’s going to be grow up at some point, right? Move out, make a life of her own? You’re never going to replace, B’Elanna, no. But that doesn’t mean you can’t…” Chakotay shook his head. “Do you have any idea of how jealous I was of the two of you?”</p><p>Tom raised his eyebrows. “Me and B’Elanna?”</p><p>“Hell, yeah. You two made a life with each other out there. Sure, you nearly tore each other and the ship apart in the process, but… by the time you got married, had Miral. You had a love like I’d been wanting my whole damn life, Tom.” He laughed. “Why do you think I made such an idiot of myself over Annika? She felt like my last chance.” </p><p>Tom touched his hand. “But you have Tama now. You love her, right? I mean, you married her.”</p><p>“Yes, of course,” Chakotay said. “That’s my whole point. I didn’t give up. I didn’t tell myself I didn’t deserve love because I couldn’t make it work with Kathryn, or because I tried to force something with someone who was never right for me.”</p><p>“But that’s <em>my</em> point. I know how good it can be, and I don’t know if I can ever find that again.”</p><p>Chakotay sighed. “Tom, love isn’t some finite resource you dole out until it’s gone. Ten years ago, I never would have imagined saying this, but: you’re a family man. Yes, Miral, but it doesn’t have to end there. B’Elanna wouldn’t want you to stop moving forward, Tom. She’d want you to find someone else. I’m sure of that.”</p><p>(“He’s right, Tom. You deserve to be happy. I want you to be happy.”)</p><p>Tom said nothing, because there was nothing to say. Chakotay was probably right. He’d always been annoying that way. But that didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t imagine being with anyone other than B’Elanna. Except maybe… He might as well be honest with himself. He could picture himself with Kathryn. </p><p>Tom wasn’t in the same place he’d been eight months ago. Moving to Qo’noS. Virtual sessions with the new grief counselor the Doc had found him. All those letters in which he’d poured his heart out to Chakotay. He'd figured out a lot about who he was now, with B’Elanna gone. Who he wanted to be, too. And that someone probably fit pretty nicely against Kathryn Janeway. But it didn’t matter. He’d ruined it by rushing, by not communicating with her, by pretending he hadn’t still been deep in his grief when he had been. </p><p>“When was the last time you two spoke?” Chakotay asked.</p><p>“That last fight,” Tom said. “It got pretty nasty. Didn’t really make for an amicable split.”</p><p>“Have you thought about reaching out to her?” </p><p>“Yes? Sort of. Maybe a letter to apologize. I haven’t done it, though.” Tom was too afraid of what kind of response he’d get. Even more afraid of not getting any response at all.</p><p>“We talked some at the wedding,” Chakotay said. “She didn’t exactly say it, because she’s still Kathryn Janeway, but I could tell. She misses you and Miral. And I think she feels pretty terrible about how things went, too. Write her that letter. Give it a shot. What do you have to lose?”</p><p>“Nothing, I guess,” Tom sighed. “We do have a lot of history. It would be nice to be friends with her again.”</p><p>“Just friends?”</p><p>Tom made a face at him. “God, Chakotay, isn’t your fake-counselor routine enough? Do you have to try your hand at matchmaking, too? And for your ex-nemesis and your ex-captain slash crush, besides?”</p><p>Chakotay gave him his trademarked flat glare, but Tom could tell he was faking. “As annoying as you are, Paris, you deserve to have love again. And as infuriating as she is, Kathryn does, too. I never would have predicted the two of you could be happy together, but stranger things have happened.” </p><p>“Like that time I spit out my tongue, kidnapped her, and you abandoned our offspring in a swamp?”</p><p>There was the real glare! Tom knew he could earn one again if he tried hard enough.</p><p>“I thought we agreed to never talk about that again.” Chakotay swigged the rest of his beer. “Finish up and take me to see your daughter before I remember I don’t like you.”</p><p>Tom paid for their drinks and told Akall he’d see her the following night. He suppressed his more wicked side and took Chakotay out the west entrance and away from the butchers’ market. “What do you think B’Elanna would say, if she could see us together?” Tom asked him. “Being friendly like this while we walked the streets of her mother’s hometown?”</p><p>“She’d tell us to watch out so we don’t get our asses kicked,” Chakotay said. “Then laugh at us if we got them kicked anyway. And, she’d probably be glad. That we could be here for each other since she can’t be. I know I am.”</p><p>Tom smiled. “Yeah. Me, too.”<br/> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to everyone who read and left kudos and comments! I'm glad some of you enjoyed coming along on this little detour with me. Special thanks to Caseyptah, for giving me an EXCELLENT idea for Tom's next career. (If I'm counting right, this is the 6th different post-Voyager job I've given the guy, yet B'Elanna is always always always an engineer. I think it fits.) </p><p>Lastly, I don't know how Ross Gay would feel about me using his words for an epigraph for a Voyager fic, but I'm guessing he'll never find out. Consider reading his book (title below) if you haven't -- it's lovely. If you're not up for that, you can find his poem, Sorrow is Not My Name, on poetryfoundation.org and another, A Small Needful Fact, on poets.org.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Is sorrow the true wild?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And if it is--and if we join them--your wild to mine--what's that?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For joining, too, is a kind of annihilation</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What if we joined our sorrows, I'm saying.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm saying: What if that is joy?</em>
</p><p>-Ross Gay, <em>The Book of Delights </em></p>
<hr/><p>After forty-seven years of life, Kathryn had too many regrets to count. She never would have predicted, however, that her final one would be not heeding the advice of a salty, geriatric Bindhadi station master about the wisdom of using a certain taxi service.</p><p>“Y’all right, Admiral?” the pilot she’d been warned about drawled. Together they were hurtling, seemingly out of control, towards the colony on Daw Meuxng. He was a mix of Bindhadi, Klingon, and Bajoran, was barely out of adolescence, and went by the inauspicious name of Crud. Crud’s two-seater tin can of a shuttle had clearly seen better decades, and his clothes and hygiene were even worse, but Kathryn had been charmed by the youthful eagerness with which he’d begged her to support his nascent business, and the fact that he’d been the only way to leave for the colony immediately has been an even bigger motivator.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Kathryn managed to get out past gritted teeth while she checked her restraint belt for the fifth time.</p><p>“Don’t forget,” Crud said as he yanked the shuttle’s yolk hard to port. “I got sick bags in your seat pocket. Don’t be shy. You wouldn’t be the first to need one.”</p><p>Based on the smell coming from that seat pocket, Kathryn wasn’t surprised to hear this.</p><p>She felt so stupid. It wasn’t as if there was a schedule she had to stick to. No one on Daw Meuxng was expecting her. But, after all the agonizing internal debate she’d undergone to get this far, waiting another whole day to take the final twenty-minute hop to the colony felt like an impossible delay. Unless this terrible, nausea-inducing roller coaster ride of a shuttle flight was a sign that she shouldn’t have come at all. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear Kathryn,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope you’re well. I ask my dad about you, when we talk (and wow do we get along better when we live in different systems) but he never says much. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m writing because Miral and I are moving. We’ve been on Qo’noS — did you know that? But, my time with the KDF cultural exchange program is up and, actually, so is my time with Starfleet. I’ve got this business opportunity on Daw Meuxng. Which I know sounds crazy — who starts a business there?? — but I think I could actually do a lot of good. Besides, they have a pretty vigorous (haha) Klingon community and I want that for Miral. She’s done really well on Qo’noS. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe call me sometime? I can run my ideas by you and see what you think. All my contact info is attached.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Warmest regards,</em><br/>
<em>Tom</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The problem with Daw Meuxng was the atmosphere. Thirty years ago, when the colony had first been settled by a scientist coalition made of both Federation and non-Federation species, Daw Mexung had been prized as a source of high-grade tritanium ore, and also had several uridium mines. The latter, particularly, had been of interest to the Cardassians, and, given the planet’s location not far from the Dorvan system, it had nearly been ceded to them when the border had been redrawn back in 2370. But, when a class twelve emissions nebula had become trapped within the planet’s exosphere towards the end of negotiations, it had made travel to and from the planet’s surface so difficult that both the Cardassians and Federation had withdrawn support. Daw Meuxng had struggled to survive since, although a core group of colonists had fought hard to keep it viable.</p><p>In other words, Tom’s question was a good one. Who <em>does</em> start a business there?</p><p>So, after Kathryn had gotten Tom’s letter, and after she’d gotten over being irritated by it (“Warmest regards”?), she’d reluctantly gone to Owen. Who, of course, didn’t ever say much to Tom about how she was doing because he didn’t know. They’d come to something of a detente after Tom had left Earth, but the close, professional camaraderie had evaporated.</p><p>“I understand if you don’t want to tell me,” she’d said to him, standing stiffly in an office that had once been as familiar as her own. “But I got a letter from Tom about him moving and…” What was the right way to finish that sentence? Would Owen believe simple curiosity was enough to prompt their first real conversation in months? If he knew it was more than that, would he withhold information to punish her?</p><p>“Drones,” Owen said when she didn’t continue. “That’s what he’s doing on Daw Meuxng. Tom started a remote piloting program to bring cargo vessels through the nebula. Drone ships are faster and easier to produce than AI-controlled ones, and with no lifeforms on board, they don’t have to worry about the radiation levels. One pilot can make over a dozen flights a day. It’s going to completely revitalize the colony’s economy.”</p><p>“This was Tom’s idea?” </p><p>Owen nodded. “Completely. He hired an engineering team to help with the details, but the rest is all him. It’s not what I would have wanted for him — running a freighter business—” </p><p>“It sounds like he’s doing a lot of good, Owen,” she interjected, still feeling protective of Tom despite all that had happened between them.</p><p>But, rather than bristling back, Owen looked at her quietly, then, after a long pause, said: “He is. As I was about to say, it’s not what I would have wanted for him when he was growing up, but it’s a good fit for who he is now. I actually think it’s a genius idea. I’m very proud of him.”</p><p>“I’m glad to hear that,” Kathryn said. “I hope you’ve told him that, too.”</p><p>Owen smiled. “I have.” He fell quiet again and looked down at his steepled fingers. Kathryn was about to take her leave when he spoke again. “Kathryn. It was never about you.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“My concerns,” he said. “The conversation we had in your apartment. It could have been anyone, and I would have said all the same things. I was worried about Tom, that he was hiding from B’Elanna’s death; not about you specifically. But if I made it seem like something else, I’m sorry. You’ve done so much for him — both by giving him a chance on <em>Voyager</em> and when B’Elanna died. No matter what else passes between us, please know you’ll always have my gratitude for that.”</p><p>Kathryn had nodded, surprised by the lump in her throat. “Thank you, Owen.”</p><p>“Are you up for coffee later?” he’d asked her then. “My source in the cafeteria told me they have a fresh shipment of Blue Mountain coffee beans.”</p><p>After all this time, the man still knew the way to her heart. She'd accepted with a grateful smile.</p><p>But, though she’d found this resolution with Tom’s father, it didn’t mean she’d been ready to talk to Tom himself again, and the polite, trifling letter he’d set her had done little to convince her otherwise.</p><p>A month later, the second one had arrived.</p><p>“Hang on, Admiral!” Crud’s trill interrupted her thoughts. “We’ll be planetside in five!”</p><p>Kathryn was glad to hear they were going to reach the ground; she just wasn’t sure they’d be intact when they did it. She closed her eyes against the alarming view out the front viewscreen. Consequently, she was not prepared for the final, sudden stop. </p><p>And did not have time to grab a sick bag.</p><p>“Told ya I’d get ya here safe!” the pilot crowed. He stuck a small PADD in front of her face — the one she was currently wiping free of vomit. “If you could just leave a review? It really helps business. I’d appreciate five stars,” he said. “But only if you think I deserve it.” </p><p>She promised she’d leave one later and fled for the nearest bathroom to clean up. She was showing up at Tom’s doorstep unannounced and only semi-invited; she’d rather not be smelly and pathetic when she did it. Unfortunately, she’d been afraid to assume the outcome of her trip and had only brought down a single change of clothes from the space station — one perfect for tomorrow’s predicted heat, but not so good for the blustery weather today. But, at least she could freshen her lipstick (and her breath) and neaten her hair, and she managed to get most of the sick off her pants under the wall-mounted sanitizer.</p><p>Once she was semi-presentable, she left the station and hailed a hover cab. Daw Meuxng only had one city, but it was a gorgeous one. Settled as it was within the confines of a mountain range on the primary continent, the colony’s designers had worked with nature rather than against it, with homes and buildings that looked as if they’d sprung organically from their rocky surroundings. The air was crisp and smelled of pine, and the nebula that had caused the colonists so much trouble gave them a spectacular sky, swirling blues and purples with clouds that fairly sparkled. </p><p>“Here you are, good human,” the pleasant Bolian-Vulcan cab driver said, pulling over to the side of the cobbled road. “Your destination is at the top of the stairs, but you’ll want to take the chair lift. It’s right behind that red gate.”</p><p>“I’ll be fine with the stairs,” Kathryn said, annoyed the man pegged her as not up for a little climbing. </p><p>“Only if you’re used to the altitude,” he chirped, jumping from his seat to assist her out of the cab. “Best be safe. Remember, you can’t get on the lift halfway.”</p><p>“I appreciate the advice,” she lied.</p><p>And once again, she regretted not taking it. Kathryn didn’t understand. She’d never gotten altitude sickness on Earth. La Paz, Quito, Mexico City — she’d been to all of them, and Daw Meuxng City was only twenty-five hundred meters above sea level. But, only half way to her final destination, she couldn’t deny the headache, the shortness of breath, or, once again, the nausea. She gazed longingly at the small lift track the ran alongside the stairs, but, as the cab driver had warned her, there was no way for her to get on at this point.</p><p>She did, eventually, make it to the top. She barely had the energy to life the heavy wrought-metal knocker and pound it against the thick wooden door, but she managed, then dropped onto the low wall to wait for entry. </p><p>Fortunately, it didn’t take long to get a response. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the one she was hoping for.</p><p>“What do you want?” a massive, elderly Klingon male demanded from the doorway.</p><p>Dear lord, she was at the wrong address. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Kathryn said, at which point the Klingon lifted his lip in sneer. “I think I’ve come to the wrong place.” But, oh god, Kathryn did not think she could make it back down those stairs alive. “Could you… could you call the lift up here for me? To take down? I just…” And that’s when she threw up again.</p><p>None of this much endeared her to the Klingon. “You think I want you and your frail, human stomach, getting sick all over my lift? Be gone, human, and take your weakness elsewhere!”</p><p>Another sign; it had to be. Coming here had been a mistake. So Tom had sent a few letters — did that really mean that he wanted to see her again? The first sounded like something you’d send an old schoolmate you’d never been particularly fond off, and the second… The second had reminded Kathryn of all the ways in which she’d failed him. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear Kathryn,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know from my dad that you’re not sick or dead or missing, so I can only assume you’re mad at me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Which I guess is fair. Sending that stupid letter that addressed absolutely nothing was a mistake. (I still can’t believe I signed off with “warmest regards.” It’s a good thing I’m not Klingon, or I’d have to commit hegh’bat from the shame.) If B’Elanna were still around, she probably would have slapped me upside the head, and I would have deserved it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Which is why I’m writing this one. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I have a lot of regrets over how we ended things. I was angry and said terrible things, and you didn’t deserve that, and maybe I should say I’m sorry. But, before I can say that: I realized why that last letter was such a nothing. It was because there’s something I have to get off my chest. I need to clear the air between us on this, no matter the consequences.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You were wrong about how I’m raising Miral. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re an amazing captain. One of the best, and I’ve met plenty. But raising a child is not commanding a starship. And raising a Human/Klingon child when you’re a single parent and not the Klingon one adds a dimension of complication I can’t begin to explain.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Here’s what you don’t know: B’Elanna saw things a little like you did. She worried about Miral’s moodiness, her anger, the way she would hit when she didn’t have the words to say what was wrong. I tried to tell her, over and over, that Miral was fine. That human children did these things, too; but it didn’t matter. We fought about it all the time — her insisting Miral had to be better at controlling her temper; me insisting that Miral just needed time to mature.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The thing I didn’t realize, though, until after B’Elanna was gone, was that her fears were never really about Miral. When Miral threw food or pitched a fit, B’Elanna wasn’t seeing a normal toddler doing normal toddler things. She was seeing her own childhood: kids bullying her on the playground, teachers punishing her for lashing out, her father abandoning her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Do you understand what I’m saying, Kathryn? That’s why part of her never trusted our marriage. That’s why I had to promise again and again that I would never leave. Because, no matter how much I loved B’Elanna, she still carried that pain around. She still couldn’t completely love herself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I thought about how you yelled at Miral, and told her she was bad, and that she’d be alone until she calmed down, and I thought of how often someone must have done that to B’Elanna. How many times she must have heard that message growing up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>So I made myself a promise: I will never, ever let anyone hurt my daughter like her mother was hurt. I will never let anyone make her doubt her goodness, her worth, that she deserves love. Not even if that hurt is born from the best of intentions, which I know you have always had.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ve let a lot of people down in my life, Kathryn, you included. But this one I can’t fuck up. I’m all Miral has and, though my best has so rarely been enough, this time it has to be. And I can’t be sorry for that.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Will you call me? Or write, if that’s easier for you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thinking of you, (that’s better, right?)</em><br/>
<em>Tom</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When she’d first opened that second letter, she’d been annoyed, assuming it was another shallow attempt at reconciliation. As she’d read on, she’d passed through amusement, defensiveness, then, at the end, terrible guilt and sorrow. Over B’Elanna, and how little she’d understood about the other woman’s past. Over Tom, and how much he was still devoted to his wife’s memory, but mostly, over Miral, and how Kathryn had slammed the door on a child’s screams for comfort and safety. </p><p>Because Tom was right. She had been wrong about his parenting, at least some of it. And definitely about the part in which she thought it was her place to judge. A few weeks after that last, terrible fight, she’d gone to visit her mother in Indiana and had unloaded the whole sorry tale onto her. “Oh, Kathryn,” Gretchen Janeway had said. “Please tell me you didn’t do that to a two-year old child.”</p><p>Kathryn hadn’t been ready to listen to her mother at that point, either, but, after reading Tom’s second letter, she’d finally understood. And still felt a sense of shame. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she muttered to the old Klingon, and she’d never said a truer thing. It was time to admit defeat and call this personal mission a failure. She’d get herself down those cursed stairs, call herself a new hover cab, and find a hotel to hole up until in she could find anyone but Crud to take her off this damn planet and back to Earth. </p><p>Then a voice, both familiar and not, stopped her.</p><p>“Uncle Merok! Are you being mean to guests again?”</p><p>Kathryn looked at the part-Klingon girl who’d appeared at the old man’s side. Her hands were on her hips and her lower lip stuck out in an angry pout. In the fourteen Earth months since Kathryn had last seen her, she’d gotten taller, tanner, and her brown curls had been pulled into a pair of messy braids, but there was no doubt in Kathryn’s mind who this was. </p><p>“Miral?”</p><p>The girl turned to her, blinked, then grinned her father’s grin. “Hey!” she said. “I know you!”</p><p>“You do,” Kathryn said, amazed and pleased that the child still remembered her. “I’m your Aunt Kathryn. We used to spend a lot of time together.”</p><p>Miral frowned at this. “That musta been when I was little. My dad has a picture of you, though, next to his bed. I like to sleep there when I have a bad dream.” She turned and ran back into the house. “Daaaaaddyyyy! Someone’s here for you!”</p><p>The old Klingon was studying her now. “You are a friend of Tom’s? You are the Kathryn he’s spoken of?”</p><p>“I think so,” Kathryn said. “He’s not expecting me, though. This was a sort of spur—” </p><p>“Welcome!” the man boomed at her. “Why didn’t you say something? Come in, come in!”</p><p>Kathryn’s head spun a little at this rapid change in attitude, and, when she stood, it spun even more. “Oh.” She blinked rapidly in a desperate attempt to clear the black spots from her eyes. “I don’t think…” was the last thing she managed before the flagstones rushed to meet her.</p><p>“Kathryn?” </p><p>She opened her eyes and saw a pair of worried blue ones staring back at her. “Tom?” she croaked. She was on her back, indoors, laying on something warm and fuzzy. “Where am I?”</p><p>Tom smiled. She’d missed that smile. “In my living room. You passed out.”</p><p>“Oh god,” she groaned. “How could this go any worse?” She went to sit up, but Tom pressed her gently into the blanket. </p><p>“You stay right where you are,” he said. “Let me get a medkit and I’ll have you fixed up in a jiff.”</p><p>Kathryn sighed and watched him hurry down the hallway out of sight. She was lying on a sort of chaise lounge attached to a large couch; the walls of the room it was in were a mix of stone and well-polished timber. It was a sunny, airy space, with a number of narrow floor to ceiling windows and, against the adjacent wall, there was an empty fireplace so massive Miral could have stood inside with room to spare. </p><p>Above the mantel, Kathryn noted with a smile, was B’Elanna’s bat’leth. </p><p>It wasn’t just the bat’leth. Despite Tom’s instructions, Kathryn lurched to her feet and grabbed onto the back of the chaise for support. Once her vision cleared, she wobbled her way to the fireplace. The mantel was filled with photos — of B’Elanna. With Tom, with Miral, in a Starfleet cadet’s uniform, even some from her childhood. </p><p>“Hey,” Tom said from behind her. “I thought I told you to stay put.” </p><p>She turned too fast and nearly fell over again, but, lucky for her, Tom had those pilot’s reflexes and caught her. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get you back to safer ground.”</p><p>Once she was lying back on the chaise, he pressed two hyposprays to her neck in quick succession. “I’m surprised no one took care of this at the docking station. Baseline oxygen levels and air pressure are lower here than on Earth — you need to take ordolamide and trioxime on arrival. They should have given it to you at your Arrivals screen.”</p><p>Kathryn slowly eased to sitting. She hadn’t even realized how bad she felt until she started feeling better again. “I didn’t go through an Arrivals screen.”</p><p>Tom frowned. “You didn’t? That’s weird. Come to think of it, there isn’t even a passenger shuttle scheduled for…” His eyes widened. “Oh, god, Kathryn, you let Crud fly you here? No wonder you feel like crap. Didn’t the station master at Kehndai warn you?”</p><p>Kathryn cheeks flushed warm. “I suppose someone might have suggested waiting for another pilot.”</p><p>“Might have?” His eyes were merry and she could tell he was trying very hard not to openly laugh. </p><p>“I… made an error in judgment.”</p><p>“Wow,” he said. “Coming for a surprise visit <em>and</em> admitting you were wrong. This is a banner day.” But, though part of her bristled at his words, his voice was soft and teasing, and Kathryn was a big enough person to admit he had a point. </p><p>Tom leaned towards her, his mouth open on a word or maybe a kiss, and Kathryn took a breath.</p><p>Then he shook himself, straightened, and busied himself putting the medkit back together. </p><p>And Kathryn wondered, now that she was here, dizzy and covered in throw up on his couch, if Tom regretted writing that third letter.</p><p>Because that’s what had done it. That’s what had made her get over her irritation, her guilt, and her doubt enough to take the ten-day trip half way across the quadrant to get here.</p><p>It had arrived over two months after the second, devastating one. Kathryn had become convinced Tom had given up on her; had decided that what she had done to Miral was an unforgivable act, especially since Kathryn hadn’t even gotten it together enough to reply to him. So, when the third letter had shown up — handwritten, on actual paper, passed from station to ship to station, until Harry Kim himself delivered it to her office on his last trip home — she didn’t open it for three days for fear it was full of anger, or maybe a final good-bye. But, she was a scientist, curious by nature, and didn’t Tom at least deserve that? To tell her off in whatever way he felt was fit?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear Kathryn,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So this is it. The last letter. Lucky number three. I guess I could just keep sending you these things forever, but that’s what, in legal terms, is known as “stalking,” so I figure I better quit while I’m (not yet irredeemably, I hope) behind. You haven’t even seen all the ones I’ve started and thrown away! There was the one that came off so aggressively sincere it was like I’d channeled Harry. There was the one where I tried to be poetic and wrote this terrible Neruda pastiche that would have made you throw up in your mouth. There was even one where I went on and on about Chakotay because he’s the one who started me on this whole letter thing, but, let’s face it, while I like the guy a lot more than I used to, there are only about a million things I’d rather talk to you about besides him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So, given the first letter probably pissed you off and the second maybe made you think I was still pissed at you, I’ve landed on this: the letter of apology I’ve owed you from the beginning. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry for never saying no to you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Which seems like a weird thing to apologize for, I know, but that’s what all my mistakes come down to. I should have said: No, I’m still not over my wife’s death and I need to deal with that before I commit to anyone else. I should have said: No, I’m not in a place where I can give you the support you need and deserve. Also: No, that’s not how I’m going to raise my daughter and this is one thing I can’t compromise on. And, finally, most importantly: No, because as good as the sex is, it pales in comparison to how important your friendship is to me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I miss you. Not like I miss B’Elanna, whom I still miss very much, but in a way that’s unique to you and the person you are. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I love you, too, and if you ask me what I mean when I say that, I’ll be honest and say I’m not sure. But, if you’re willing, if you can accept that I’m trying to be better about saying no to you, then I’d like a chance to figure it out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And, if you’re not willing and friendship is all you see fit to give me right now, I can make that be enough. Because I don’t want to lose you, Kathryn. I’ve lost too much already and I’m not willing to let another thing slip away because I was too afraid to ask for another chance. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Write to me? Please? Or call, visit, hire a skywriter (they do a great business on Daw Meuxng on account of the excellent backdrop). </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Because I’d like to say yes to you, too.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love, </em><br/>
<em>Tom </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“So, uh,” Tom said, standing up from the couch. “How are you? Aside from the altitude sickness, I mean.”</p><p>She smiled. “I’m all right.”</p><p>“I’m surprised you had the time to come out here,” Tom said. “Maguire usually keeps you pretty busy.”</p><p>Kathryn nodded. Of course, he didn’t know. She hadn’t told him, and Owen had a scrupulous distaste for gossip. “I’m on indefinite leave, actually. Have been for a month.”</p><p>Tom lowered himself back to the couch and reached for her knee before resting it on the blanket next to her. “What happened?”</p><p>“Nothing,” she said, willing that hand to move just a few centimeters closer. To rest on her thigh. To reassure her with its comforting weight that she wasn’t a fool to have come here. “It was by choice, if that’s what you’re asking. I told them I needed to take leave or resign, and they were willing to accept the former.”</p><p>Tom smiled. “If that’s the case, then, good. It’s about time you got out of that crappy department. You should be in Sciences, or at least be working with first contact worlds and not the same stupid systems the Federation’s been bickering with for decades. You’ve done enough.”</p><p>She straightened. “I’ve done enough? You think I should leave the ‘Fleet?” </p><p>“No.” He shook his head. “Unless you want to. I mean: you’ve done enough for us. We’re not stupid, you know. We all knew you took that terrible job because it’s what Nechayev wanted. Forget the Prime Directive; quid pro quo is the main operating principle of Starfleet. And, consequently, none of us are in prison. Doc finally has access to his mobile emitter. Harry finally has a posting he wants. Like I said: you’ve done enough. You don’t have to be a martyr forever, Kathryn. You can choose to be happy, too.”</p><p>Kathryn wobbled a little, more from surprise than any lingering illness.Tom had understood, all this time. Maybe they all had. “Why haven’t you said this to me before?” </p><p>“Did you get my letter? The third one?” he asked. Suddenly, his expression was stricken. “Oh god. That <em>is</em> why you came, right? I’m not reading this whole thing wrong?”</p><p>Kathryn smiled back. “You’re not.”</p><p>“Whew,” he said with a quick grin before his face went serious again. “In that case, I think this falls under ‘couldn’t give you the support you needed or deserved.’ A part of me still saw you as Captain Janeway. A part I have thoroughly squashed into the ground at this point, I swear. And I am sorry. That you didn’t feel like you could talk to me about this.”</p><p>Kathryn shook her head and turned away, embarrassed by the tears that had started to come. “You were the only ones. You and B’Elanna.”</p><p>She felt his hand on her shoulder now. “We were what?”</p><p>Kathryn placed her hand over his. “The only ones I didn’t… Your lives were better, after <em>Voyager</em>. And then she died, and I didn’t even have that anymore.”</p><p>He said nothing, only folded his arms around her and pulled her close and into his chest, and held her as she wept. For B’Elanna. For Tuvok, who would never be quite the same. For Harry, who’d worked so hard and well and who she’d never been able to adequately recognize. For Chakotay and the love they might have had shared if she hadn’t pushed him away. For Annika and Kes, because even as she’d given them new lives she still wondered if they would have been better off having never met her. For Tom, who’d turned his life around and had had so much happiness, but for not nearly long enough. And for herself, too, because she finally could. Because finally there was someone who could support her, finally there was someone she would <em>let</em> support her, until she was strong enough to get back up and move forward. </p><p>But, maybe not alone this time.</p><p>The storm passed, as they tended to do, though Tom kept holding her and she didn’t mind. Not at all. But she had to stop hanging on him eventually, if only because an elderly Klingon woman was standing behind him, loudly clearing her throat. Tom gave her a quick smile and introduced them. “This is B’Elanna’s Aunt Kepma. She and her husband Merok decided to come along and help me with Miral.”</p><p>Kathryn tried to discreetly wipe at her eyes. “That was very kind of you.”</p><p>Kepma snorted. “Kind had nothing to do with it. We needed to make sure Miral learned to speak Klingon better than her father! And have you seen him with a bat’leth?” She laughed uproariously at her own joke, but Tom took it with good humor and only rolled his eyes. “You’re staying for lunch, then?” Kepma asked her. </p><p>At Tom’s hopeful look, Kathryn nodded. “I am.”</p><p>“Excellent! I’ve been experimenting with human cuisine! Merok!” she boomed. “She’s staying! Replicate more pizza dough!”</p><p>After she strode down the hallway, Kathryn raised an eyebrow. “Klingon pizza?”</p><p>Tom grinned. “Don’t knock it til you try it. I’ll tell her to leave off the gagh, though, to be safe.” He reached out with his left hand, and wiped one errant tear off her cheek with his thumb.</p><p>And Kathryn caught a glint of gold.</p><p>“You’re wearing your wedding ring again,” she observed, keeping her voice neutral.</p><p>He glanced at it, then her, and smiled. “Yeah. I… It felt like the right decision.” He paused and looked at her again. “For now, anyway. No matter how much time passes, whatever else I do, nothing will change the fact that B’Elanna and I made a life together.”</p><p>Kathryn placed her hand over his. “Tom, I never want you to—”</p><p>“I know,” he interrupted with a sad smile. “That wasn’t directed at anyone but me, Kathryn.” He stood and walked over to the mantel. “It’s always been my go-to strategy, you know? If I pretend I don’t care what my father thinks of me, maybe his disappointment wouldn’t sting so much. If I pretend I don’t need friends, maybe it wouldn’t matter that I don’t have any. And if I pretend I'm not still grieving…”</p><p>“Maybe you’d stop being in so much pain?”</p><p>Tom sighed. “Yeah. You won’t be surprised to hear it didn’t work for shit. You would think I would have figured that out by now.” He blew out a long breath. “Which I guess I have. Figured it out. I mean, not everything. But, at least the idea that I can still be sad about the life B’Elanna and I were going to make together, and, at the same time, want to make a new life with someone else.” He swallowed hard and shifted from foot to foot, before finally blurting: “With you, that is. I mean that I want to make a life with you. If that wasn’t clear.”</p><p>Kathryn smiled. The man did babble when he was nervous, and she found it rather adorable. It wasn’t easy for Tom, she knew — being honest with her, face to face, expressing his feelings without qualifying them or couching them in a joke. But, just as she was about to speak, a bright teal feather wafted down from the ceiling and landed lightly in his hair. She pressed her lips firmly together. She could not laugh. Not after he’d been so vulnerable with her. Even one tiny smirk and Kathryn knew she would never get another sincere word out of the man ever again.   </p><p>He seemed to notice something was off, though, as he was now frowning. “Are you… Is something wrong, Kathryn?”</p><p>She shook her head, afraid to even open her mouth at this point, when a burst of giggles erupted from above them. </p><p>Tom sighed and looked up, only to have two more feathers land on his face. “Miral.”</p><p>“Hi Daddy!”</p><p>Kathryn stood to join him. Miral was waving at them from the second floor balcony, a long boa —  no doubt the source of the feathers —  wrapped around her neck. </p><p>“Whatcha you doing, kiddo?” Tom said. </p><p>“Nothing!” she said, before fleeing down the upstairs hallway and out of sight.</p><p>“I’ll be right back,” Tom growled, but in a friendly way. “You better run!” he yelled. “Because I’m coming for you!”</p><p>There was a rapid pounding of tiny child’s feet, followed by the heavier clomping of a larger adult’s, a few screeches, a roar, and a final, explosive burst of hysterical high-pitched laughter before Tom reappeared, one feathered, Human/Klingon child thrown over his shoulder. He plopped her down in front of Kathryn.</p><p>“Say hi to your Ant Rin, Miri.”</p><p>Miral wrinkled up her nose. “You said your name was Kathryn.”</p><p>“It is,” Tom agreed. “But Ant Rin was all you could manage at two.”</p><p>Miral rolled her eyes and collapsed in a heap on the floor. “Daddy! That was sooooo long ago!” She then contorted herself so she was in a reasonable facsimile of a wheel pose, and gave Kathryn a broad, upside down grin. </p><p>“Kathryn is fine now, Miral,” she said. </p><p>“OK!” Miral popped back onto her feet, then took off down the hallway. “Me’ Kepma! PltSa’ chab SuH?”</p><p>“She’s always hungry,” Tom said. “It’s some kind of crazy growth spurt. Thank god for replicators, or I’d probably go broke feeding her.”</p><p>Kathryn smiled at him. “She seems very happy, Tom.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he said, smiling back. “I think she is, actually.”</p><p>He kept looking at her, hands in his pockets, face expectant and hopeful, which was fair. The man had just poured his heart out to her, and all she’d done so far was throw up on his front stoop and cry on his shoulder. She owed him a response. </p><p>“Do you think,” she started then found she couldn’t look at him when she said it, “that I could be happy here, too?”</p><p>Tom said nothing, but, when she finally found the nerve to look at him again, he offered her a cautious smile. “I think that that’s a question you have to answer for yourself.”</p><p>He was right, of course. She did have to figure it out herself — what she wanted. From Starfleet, from Tom. Because she’d spent her whole life moving from one external goal to another: make her father proud, succeed in Starfleet, get <em>Voyager</em> home. But there was only so much satisfaction one could get from those kinds of goals, wasn’t there?</p><p>At heart, Kathryn Janeway always was and always would be a scientist. And, as every good scientist knows, the best way to find an answer was to form a hypothesis and test it out. “I think maybe I can be,” she said to Tom. “And I think the only way I’ll know is if I try.”</p><p>Tom’s grin widened then, into the cocky one she knew so well. The one she’d found irritating on any number of occasions, but was also inherently, indelibly Tom, and so the one she loved, too. </p><p>“Daaaady!” Miral called from down the hallway. “Me’ Kepma wants to know if we should do regular cheese or human cheese?”</p><p>Tom looked alarmed. “Human cheese, please!”</p><p>“What’s ‘regular cheese’?” Kathryn asked him.</p><p>“It’s made from targ milk.” Tom said. “It’s actually grown on me, but definitely an acquired taste. I’d rather not scare you off before we even get started.”</p><p>Kathryn smiled and extended her hand towards him. “Tell them to put it on half. I’d like to give it a try.”</p><p>Tom took her hand, and they walked forward together.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The End</strong>
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